


You Don't Scare Me Anymore

by Misschatelle



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Oh My God, it wasn't meant to get this long, whodunit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 74,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misschatelle/pseuds/Misschatelle
Summary: Chief Holbrook calmly held her glare for a few seconds. “Do you mean to say that you have no memories of the past eight months?”Allie shrugged. “Maybe it was all a dream.”“Can you tell me what happened in that dream?”“Why does it matter now?”“Because some of you never returned. And we’d like to understand why. We have parents who, for a second, were given hope, only for that to get brutally taken away. They’ve seen all the other families reunite with their lost children, and they didn’t get to do that. They want answers, and I don’t have them. I’m hoping you can help me.”(Four teenagers never made it back to West Ham. Emily Warner. Cassandra Pressman. Greg Dewey. Campbell Eliot.)
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Lexie (The Society), Kelly Aldrich/Gordie (The Society), Luke Holbrook/Helena Wu, Sam Eliot/Gareth "Grizz" Visser, Will LeClair/Allie Pressman
Comments: 176
Kudos: 129





	1. Mayor Bingham

**Author's Note:**

> This always happens.
> 
> This was meant to be a simple ten-chapter Grizzam-centric fic about the kids going back home.
> 
> When I wasn't looking, it turned into this monster of a novel-length whodunit thriller extravaganza.
> 
> I am so sorry.
> 
> (Caution: Later chapters will contain graphic depictions of violence, and mentions of past sexual assault. If these constitute severe triggers for you, feel free to click away. Mental health comes first.)

Eight months was how long it took Karen Bingham and her council members to accept that something beyond the natural was truly at play.

In the wake of tragedy, the idea had been denied any consideration. Every parent in town was grieving, saved for the ‘lucky’ ones with kids under the age of sixteen. As if that did anything to alleviate the trauma that poisoned town residents to near oblivion. In one night, all at once, every single high school junior and senior student perished in a bus crash, in an unpredictable storm, while on their way to a camping trip that had been meant to highlight the fast approach of summer, and the imminent end of the school year.

 _Every single one of them_ , would silently ponder teachers, afraid to voice their thoughts in such a sensitive time. Attendance for these trips was never a hundred percent. Someone would get sick, or have a family emergency, or would just find an excuse to get out of it. Camping was not for everyone. There would always be _some_ stragglers who would stay home. _At least_ some.

But not this time. All of them had signed up. All of them had showed up. Every single one of them. Like some kind of fatalistic joke. As if some otherworldly force was pulling the strings somewhere, up there, or out there, wherever _it_ was.

Like a joke, or a punishment.

Mr. Marenger, long-time English teacher at West Ham High, had seen the graffiti, on the morning of the retrospectively dreadful June 9th, 2019.

_Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin._

Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.

Biblical texts were not his specialty, but he remembered a fairly recent conversation he’d had with his prize student Gareth Visser. The latter had submitted a brilliant essay comparing their latest Steinbeck mandatory read with key biblical passages. Nothing like the kinds of essays teenagers his age usually produced. The young man’s work had reminded Mr. Marenger of this obscure quote, and he’d mentioned it to him.

And now, a month later, maybe two, there it was on the wall, like a warning or a threat.

The next morning, it was gone.

o0o0o

The bodies were found, days after those five buses had innocuously drawn away from the curb and its flock of waving parents. The carcasses of the busses had been smashed and charred. How they could have gotten that damaged was beyond the experts. Just as puzzling was how none of the bodies could be identified. How odd, in a time when dental records should have made possible the identification of _at least_ a few, if not most of them. Nothing could be done to pinpoint who was who.

Yet there was no doubt to be had. Five crashed buses, merely an hour away from West Ham, in the general direction of the National Park. Crazy coincidences like that did not just happen.

A collective funeral was held, a memorial plaque with all of their names was hung up in the library.

Then, families were expected to grieve, and move on, somehow. Services were put in place for the mourning families with younger kids. Storytime hours at the library, for instance, while support groups of affected adults were held nearby. Anything to somehow facilitate the impossibly painful process of healing.

o0o0o

It took Mayor Bingham eight months to accept the existence of the supernatural and play the game, but it only took two weeks for her to see _him_ again.

Mr. Pfeiffer.

When he showed up at her office, days after the funeral, she welcomed him with the usual tight-lipped smile, a requirement of politeness within her profession. He informed her he was here to talk about the smell, and she kindly let him know this was not the time.

The smell had been gone for a while now. Ever since the tragedy, in fact. As if it knew to leave people in peace, in times like these.

Mr. Pfeiffer went on to say the most preposterous things. He was calm, level, eerily professional in his approach. Yet none of what he said was sane. He went on about how this was their punishment. He had offered them a chance to pay the price for their sins in a literal sense; now they paid the price much less literally, but much more painfully. It was not too late, though, he was still willing to negotiate.

That’s where Mayor Bingham exploded. In her shock, she had been unable to respond, unable to stop him in his litany. Who would say such things, to a woman who cried herself to sleep, knowing she would have to put up a strong front the very next day, for the sake of her now only daughter, and of the entire town?

She yelled, in a way she never did in her office. She screamed at him to leave, now, and never come back. She had never been this hysterical.

He left. And as he walked down the hallway to the exit, he was still completely calm. Entirely, threateningly in control.

That night, the smell returned.

o0o0o

On June 21st, twelve days after the disappearance, a lantern landed in West Ham, in the backyard of a young Basheer Akkad, brother of departed Bean Akkad.

The thirteen-year-old teenager burst into the police station that day, hysterically brandishing a picture. It took the officers twenty minutes to calm him down, get him to take a seat and explain.

He had found it in his backyard, it had landed there. A sky lantern, just like those he used to make with his sister. Attached to the lantern was a picture. Of all the missing students. With a note.

_We are here._

The officers shook their heads disapprovingly. Some of those bums in town could be so cruel, playing sick jokes like that.

They watched dispirited Basheer leave the station with a pinch in the heart. That kid needed to grieve. Losing a sister at that age was simply not fair.

o0o0o

Mr. Pfeiffer was back a month later.

Tragedy and a horrific smell that came and went unexpectedly had a way of affecting one’s judgement. Mayor Bingham let him in.

The meeting was brief. His offer was still on the table, he said, but the price was going up.

Calmly, repressing her rage, Mayor Bingham asked him if he was admitting to having played a role in the death of those children.

Mr. Pfeiffer smiled. “Everything is interconnected, Mayor Bingham, if you go down that path.”

“I’m not sure you’re answering the question, Mr. Pfeiffer. It’s a simple question.”

That chilling smile stayed put, unwavering. It sent chills down Karen’s back, and she mentally chided herself for acting like a fool. She was better, stronger than this.

“Two million dollars, Mayor Bingham. Think about my offer. I’ll be back to hear your answer. But don’t wait too much, because the price _will_ go up again.”

Karen called the police as he left the room, but by the time they arrived, he was long gone.

She gave the authorities everything that she had about this man, including contracts. At this point, pride was irrelevant.

If this psychopath had killed 225 teenagers as part of some deranged corporate revenge plan, they had to find him.

o0o0o

They found nothing.

There were no records anywhere of this Mr. Pfeiffer, or of his company for that matter. It made no sense. The town had signed contracts with it, and corresponded with its representative over the course of weeks. But none of the documents or correspondence led anywhere.

It was like he simply… did not exist.

He had said he would be back. So Karen stayed put. And waited.

o0o0o

She wondered if she should have known much earlier how insane this Mr. Pfeiffer was.

Their meetings had never been normal, even before. He had always used weird, archaic phrases about sin and repentance. Like it was _their_ fault that their town was riddled with an abominable and inexplicable smell.

But they had been desperate, and they had signed the initial contract. They had paid the requested first half of the money, and the smell had gone away. Almost in the snap of a finger, it felt.

 _How easy it must have been to clean up_ , the council mused.

The second and final invoice was received. The council got to talking. This time with a more rested mind. This man, whom they knew nothing about, and from a company they had never heard of, had magically been there to offer a service right at the time they had needed it. Not only did it sound fishy, but this man had repeatedly spouted offensive biblical-sounding nonsense, calling them sinners at every opportunity.

They decided that this was just too much. They didn’t trust him, and they did not have enough money to go around handing it out to random strangers.

What could he do anyway? Bring the smell _back_? Out of spite?

They canceled the contract.

Two days later, their kids were gone.

Maybe these things did not only happen in fairy tales, after all.

o0o0o

Mr. Pfeiffer was back as promised. More than once.

Every time, he disappeared before the police could show up. They even started discretely posting officers within the town hall, to take him by surprise.

It never worked. Every time, Mr. Pfeiffer swooped into her office like a hair on soup. The police were inconspicuously alerted, and yet, they never caught him. Mr. Pfeiffer would rise and leave the room, merely seconds before the police barged into the office. They never saw him in the hallway.

That’s when Karen started doubting everything she had to this point thought to be true.

o0o0o

February 29th, 2020.

A date that only existed every four years. Karen wondered if it had significance.

That’s when she signed the contract. The final one.

Within months, she had lost her grasp on reality, so to speak. She no longer knew what to believe in. What was real, what wasn’t. She knew Mr. Pfeiffer was real in some ways, unreal in others. She knew he had power beyond her understanding. She knew she could not catch him, arrest him, prosecute him. He was above any of those trifling human proceedings.

She did not understand who – or what – Mr. Pfeiffer was, but he said that he could bring her son back. And after months of a slow descent into what may be her own budding insanity, she believed him.

She signed, without the council’s support. She had Doug Eliot’s support. She had Gary Aldrich’s. That was enough.

4.5 million dollars to bring back the dead.

Mr. Pfeiffer had that same chilling smile on his lips as he gripped the paper, thanked her for her patronage, and left the room one last time.

That night, the smell dissipated again.

o0o0o

On March 1st of the year 2020, two hundred and twenty one teenagers woke up in West Ham, in their homes from which they had disappeared eight months earlier.

The news inevitably broke in the media all over the country, but journalists were denied entry into the town. Police guarded all entry points and monitored train arrivals. The mystery of it all spurred many theories, which were for the most part so ridiculous, people quickly assumed lies and trickery were at play.

Articles were written, comments were posted, but with a lack of new information, the public grew bored, and forgot.

West Ham did not forget, however.

Some believed in a divine intervention. Others cowered from this miraculous return, deeming it a devilish trickery. _Were those really our children?_

But as the weeks passed, they were all faced with the necessity of accepting what they could not understand, and attempting a return to normalcy.

 _Normalcy,_ the kids scoffed.

What did that even mean anymore?


	2. Allie Pressman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters for this fic have already been written, and merely require revision and editing. Unless I get run over by an overeager shopper at the grocery store, this fic will not get abandoned.
> 
> I felt the need to say that. Because, you know. Trust issues.

Chief Holbrook of the West Ham Police Department coughed as he settled into the vintage, faded-looking armchair. He winced as he carefully lowered his body. Then, just as swiftly as it had appeared, the expression of pain vanished from his face entirely. In its place was displayed his best attempt at an unthreatening disposition.

This was not in an interrogation room. He had been adamant that this was not what this was. They were just… trying to understand. Or so he said.

Instead, they were in a lounge, in a more remote corner of the station. Evidently a staff room of some sort. Dusty couches lined the walls covered in dated wallpaper. There were a couple vending machines, and a coffee machine on the counter, next to a sink covered in dried spots of water splashes. There didn’t seem to be much time for breaks around here. Or for cleaning.

The chief cleared his throat and attempted what must have been intended as a reassuring smile.

“So, Allie. How’s it been, to be back?”

Allie sat stiffly on the couch, facing him, yet barely looking at him. Between them was a coffee table, with two glasses of water, left untouched. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she stared at a dust bunny patiently rolling its way towards the underside of the couch.

“Good,” was all she offered.

Chief Holbrook nodded slowly, unconvinced.

“You’re keeping your guards up. I hope you know you’re not in trouble.”

“I know.”

“Great. Then, do you think you could tell me a little bit about what happened while you were gone?”

“We disappeared, then we reappeared. I can’t explain it, you can’t explain it, no one can. Except maybe God, but next time you have him on the line, let me know. I have a few things to tell him myself.”

She met his eye then. In spite of her tone, she did not look amused. The chief calmly held her glare for a few seconds, before he risked further prodding.

“Do you mean to say that you have no memories of the past eight months?”

Allie shrugged. “Maybe it was all a dream.”

“Can you tell me what happened in that dream?”

“Why does it matter now?”

“Because some of you never returned. And we’d like to understand why. We have parents who, for a second, were given hope, only for that to be taken away. They’ve seen all the other families reunite with their lost children, and they didn’t get to do that. They want answers, and I don’t have them. I’m hoping you can help me.”

He didn’t need to remind her of the numbers. They ran in her head like on Wall Street message boards, every minute of every day. 225 teenagers disappeared in June of 2019. Of those, only 221 returned. The remaining four were still missing, declared dead by the survivors.

Emily Warner. Cassandra Pressman. Greg Dewey. Campbell Eliot.

Allie’s glare ignited with even more defiance. “You think I don’t realize that, Chief?” Her tone was bitingly cold. “My _sister_ never made it back. You think I don’t feel it every day? You think I don’t _miss_ her every single day? That I don’t hate how I have to see my parents torn between joy and pain every time they see me in the house? You don’t think that’s hard enough as it is?”

The chief raised a hand, in a silent plea for peace. “Allie, I am not accusing you of anything. I just want to understand.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to understand.”

“Maybe there isn’t. I’d just like your side of the story.”

“All four of them are dead. They’re not coming back. I think that’s all we need to understand.”

The chief pondered her response. Finally, he nodded, admitting defeat.

“Alright, Allie. I’m sorry for calling up this meeting. Evidently, it was a little too soon.”

Allie wanted to snort, but refrained herself.

“This must be hard on you and your family,” Chief Holbrook continued. “Go home. Spend time with them. We’ll talk later.”

She left without a word.

o0o0o

_Allie and Will were arrested in December 2019, by the treacherous members of their Guard, under the orders of Harry and Lexie. And, as it would later become widely known, of Campbell as well._

_Their days were gloriously spent handcuffed to a radiator. Patiently, dejectedly, they awaited their trial._

_It never came._

_They received no information on the goings-on of the outside world, but they could infer issues in management, even from the discomfort of their cell. Their meals were delivered at unpredictable times, and bathroom breaks were a gamble. All members of the guard grew every day a little more tired, if the darkening shade of the circles under their eyes was any indication. The pride that had adorned their beginnings dissipated disquietingly fast, in a matter of days._

_And as the days dragged on, still no mention of a trial ever came._

_In total, Allie and Will were imprisoned for two weeks. Only when it was over did Allie realize they had missed Christmas entirely. When she stepped out the front door for the first time in half a month, she noticed some lone decorations hanging around town here and there, signs that some form of celebration had taken place. Evidently a sad one._

_Their release came unexpectedly. One evening, the door to their makeshift cell opened. Allie expected to see Clark or Jason – it was never Luke – step inside with long-awaited plates of sad-looking food. Instead, she saw Helena._

_She looked like she had been crying, when no one was looking. For a moment, as she took in the sight of them on the floor, wrists handcuffed, hair dirty, it looked like she might break again._

_But she didn’t. A key shone in her hand. She unlocked their handcuffs, released them. Allie wondered if they were meant to hide, or run away before they were found. Helena’s weirdly cool demeanor told her there was no need. Something big had happened. Things had changed._

_They hadn’t yet made it to the door when Helena gripped Allie’s arm with urgency. She noted the grave expression on her face._

_“There is something you need to see.”_

_And on those ominous words, Helena silently led them into town._

O0o0o

Allie didn’t mean to slam the door as she entered the house, but it did almost on its own. That, or maybe she was angrier than she thought. Instantly, she heard her mother’s voice coming from the living room.

“Allie?”

“Yes Mom, it’s me.”

Amanda Pressman emerged into the entryway, with an anxious glint in her eye, as if to confirm that, yes, indeed, her daughter was back home. Another day was going by without her vanishing once more into thin air.

It had been two weeks. Like most, Amanda Pressman was barely wrapping her head around the idea that her kid, whom she had believed to be dead for eight months, was back, and here to stay. She smiled warmly to hide her true concerns, and gave her daughter a kiss. Allie was painfully aware of the deception.

She knew her mother was still scared to wake up one morning and find that it had all been a dream, and Allie was still very much dead. If she were honest, Allie was scared too. Coming home had not magically stopped the nightmares. Sure, she no longer had to worry about surviving and keeping two-hundred souls safe; or about political coups and incessant life-or-death decisions; or even about not knowing whether her parents were still alive, and if she would ever see them again.

Yet, every time she woke up in the morning, it was still from a nightmare. When she got out of bed, she still bore the same weight on her shoulder that had been there for months, like a phantom menace, waiting to strike again.

She was scared too.

She wondered if her mother could tell.

Amanda rested a hand on her daughter’s cheek, affectionately. “I made scones. You want one?”

Allie smiled like she meant it. “I’d _love_ one!”

o0o0o

Allie always buttered her scones to excess, until they became soggy and gross. Cassandra’s words, not hers. Allie thought they tasted like heaven.

As she applied a more-than-generous amount of butter to her fresh-out-of-the-oven scone, she was glad to find that _some_ things never quite changed. She even felt comfort as she bit into it eagerly.

Her mother noticed. Her smile suddenly felt more genuine.

“I’m happy to see you eat. You’ve lost so much weight.”

Survival had a way of doing that. Allie kept the thought to herself and smiled instead.

“It’s delicious, Mom.”

“Well, those were always your favorite. Cassandra, on the other hand…”

“She didn’t like sweets.”

“Who ever heard of a kid that didn’t like sweets, huh?”

“Cassie was never normal.”

Amanda Pressman paused and sighed fondly. “No, she never was.”

“She was special,” Allie added, staring intently at her half-eaten scone.

“And so were you.”

Allie snorted. “Not like Cassie.”

“No, not like Cassie. If you’d been like her, you wouldn’t have been special, would you?”

Allie met her mom’s gaze once more. Her mom had always had a way of forcefully yet lovingly dragging her out of her anxious spirals. She could have used it in New Ham.

Amanda sighed softly as she weighed the impact of her next question. Allie braced for it.

“Allie…” she started. “What happened? To you, and the others? You’re you, but you’ve also changed so much. It scares me to think about you must have been through.”

Allie still had no idea how to answer that question.

It wasn’t like they’d been able to coordinate their answers as a group. Who knew what the others were saying out there? Some probably told everything, earning nothing more than doubt and disbelief. Others probably remained vague, non-committal in their answers. And others, like Allie, avoided the questions altogether.

“There’s nothing really to say, Mom. We were somewhere else. We had to survive. It was hard. And now we’re back.”

“What kind of place?” This was more than Allie had given her to work with so far, and Amanda was keen to _know_.

Allie was desperate for a way out. “Just… a place. This place. But no one besides us were there.”

“Was it far from here?”

“I… don’t know.”

“How did you get back here?”

“I don’t know.”

“How…”

“I don’t know!” Allie exclaimed, louder than intended.

Her mother froze, and looked instantly regretful. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t push you like this, it’s just… hard, to not understand.”

“I know.”

Just the day before, Allie had caught her browsing psychiatrists nearby. She wondered if her mom was starting to think her crazy. Maybe she thought she was imagining things, like the past eight months had been one big psychotic episode.

Some mornings, Allie herself wasn’t so sure anymore.

o0o0o

In West Ham’s Public Library, the memorial plaque towered sternly above the bookshelves, watching over the few quiet patrons navigating the area. It was the first time Allie set foot in the library since coming back. The knowledge of the plaque’s existence put her off until now.

She hadn’t been a regular of the library before either. Cassandra had been the avid reader in the family, what with being kept off sports fields and all. Allie had shared many interests with her sister – especially movies and theater – but she had still preferred outdoor activities to reading. She mostly remembered the library as a place their mother took them as children, to choose bedtime stories. They could spend hours choosing, mainly because of Cassandra, for whom every decision, no matter how small, required careful examination of the options available. She had always been the thinker of the two, and Allie had admired her for it. Whatever Cassandra said, went.

Eventually, Allie and Cassandra had both outgrown bedtime stories.

But Allie never outgrew Cassandra.

Allie hadn’t been to the library much in New Ham either. She knew Gordie and Kelly had, as they taught themselves the basics of medicine. Gordie, Bean, Sam and Becca had also done research here, for the Committee on Going Home. And Grizz, of course, being the default bookworm of their lot, kept himself sane reading multiple books a week, in spite of everything else going on.

Allie wished literature could have the same calming effect on her. If she could have had that outlet, maybe she wouldn’t be such a different person today. Maybe her parents wouldn’t feel like a stranger was inhabiting their house, sleeping in their lost daughter’s bed.

The Memorial was still there in the library, awaiting the Council’s verdict now that the departed were no longer so. The disappearance of 225 kids, according to some, was memorial-worthy, regardless of outcome. Some of those names would never return anyway.

All this talk seemed pointless to Allie. In a world where food was readily available, workers went to work and got paid to do it, utilities were functional and wouldn’t threaten to go out at any moment, a plaque was a strange thing to focus on.

But then again, this was also a world that grappled with loss, confusion and mourning for months. It was only now, in the safety of her real home, that she realized she never grieved her sister properly. She never could. She wasn’t sure she even knew how.

“I didn’t peg you as the contemplative type, Pressman.”

Allie, abruptly interrupted in her thoughts, turned to face the tall young man now standing next to her, mirroring her stance with his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. She noticed that his flowy brown locks of hair had been cut and styled recently. All of a sudden, his face looked rounder and younger. Kind of how he looked before.

“Hey Grizz.”

The boy smiled in that comforting way he always had. He was wearing his usual clothes, but they somehow look newer, much less worn and dirty. In this universe, their clothes hadn’t been worn on expeditions and at work, washed in bulk by teenagers who’d never worked a washing machine before. In this universe, those clothes had been hanging in closets or sitting in drawers, untouched for months, carefully kept the same by parents who just weren’t ready to let go.

“I didn’t expect to find you at the library, of all people.”

Allie smiled. Not because it was funny, nor because she was happy, but rather because Grizz was one of those few individuals with whom she did not have to put up a front. If she were more of the masochistic type, she would wonder how life in New Ham would have been without people like Grizz to keep her grounded and sane.

“I guess I was just curious about that Memorial I’ve heard so much about.”

Grizz followed her gaze up to the plaque hanging high up on the wall.

“Yeah. Trippy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

It had taken her a minute to spot her name on it, inconspicuously buried in the long list of names. One in many.

“Where’s your name?” she asked.

“There.” He pointed towards the bottom of the last column.

She had to go over the names in that corner a few times before she finally saw it.

_Gareth Visser._

“I never realized your real name was Gareth.”

She’d never asked. She liked to think her distance from people had been selfless – prioritizing the good of the many over the good of the few. But sometimes, she thought maybe she was just plain selfish.

Grizz chuckled inwardly. “That’s fine. I don’t really like it.”

“Why?”

He tore his eyes from the plaque to look at her as he replied. “It was my grandfather’s name. He wasn’t a particularly nice man. Very homophobic.”

Allie nodded, holding his gaze. Grizz and she rarely spoke about personal stuff. When they offered little tidbits of information, they accepted it without asking for more. Maybe this was another reason she appreciated his company. He didn’t ask questions, and she didn’t either. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. And other times, spelling it out was just unnecessary.

Grizz didn’t ask her about Will. She didn’t ask him about his sexuality. They didn’t need to.

“So how is it at home?” he asked casually.

She looked away, pretending to go over the names on the plaque as a way of not making herself too vulnerable.

“Fine.”

“Cool. Personally, I’d have used the word ‘weird’ but, I guess ‘fine’ works too.”

Allie shot him a glance off the corner of her eye. “I guess it _is_ a little weird.”

He appeared to feel guilty then. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see my parents, I’m… _so_ relieved that they’re okay, but…”

Allie nodded. She got it.

“Does it even make sense to feel free and trapped at the same time?” he asked, frowning.

Allie sighed as she shrugged. “I kind of would expect you to have a fancy quote about that.”

“ _Man is not free unless government is limited_. Ronald Reegan.”

Allie grimaced in amused confusion. “I’m not sure that really works here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have photographic memory. I don’t have a quote for everything.”

Allie chuckled. Possibly her first genuine laugh since coming back.

Her smile lingering on her lips, she rested a hand on Grizz’s arm. “Thanks, Grizz. It’s good to see you.”

He nodded. “Anytime.”

As she made to leave, she heard him call her name softly. When she turned around, she could see worry on his face. It reminded her of how he had looked at her, just before leaving on his expedition _. I’ve seen signs_ , he had said, and she had chided him for his uncharacteristic superstition. She had realized too late that she probably should have listened.

“I know we’re back home, and this world is not New Ham. But be careful out there, okay? We don’t know how some of us will handle the return to safety.”

She had dismissed his warnings once. This time she listened. She had heard the rumors too.

“Thanks, Grizz,” she simply said, before departing.

She hadn’t had everyone’s popular vote in New Ham. Some of her dissident were now here in West Ham, no longer bound by her rules. She wasn’t naïve, she knew to expect clapback at some point, especially now that she no longer had the Guard to protect her.

In New Ham, the thought of home had kept her going. But now that they _were_ home, she realized it wasn’t safe either.

Maybe she _was_ a little naïve after all.

o0o0o

It was dark out when she got home.

As she approached, she noticed a shadow on her porch steps. Her heart accelerated as the individual stood upon seeing her. It took her a second, before she recognized the intruder’s silhouette.

“Will.”

“Hey.” He looked tired, yet happy to see her.

“Why are you outside?”

“I wanted to see you how you were. You’ve been ignoring my texts, I’ve been worried.”

“Why didn’t you knock and wait inside?” she asked, avoiding the implied question in his words. _Why didn’t you text back?_

Will shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just weird now.”

Now. As in, now that Allie’s mom and dad were there to answer the door, now that it was no longer _their_ home, with him and Allie, and Gordie and Bean, Sam and Becca. For eight months, this house had been their home. Now, it was just the Pressmans’ again. No matter how much Allie said he was welcome anytime, it was just like before, when Will was merely a guest in that house.

He had stayed two nights with them, when they had returned. He had nowhere else to go, and his last foster dad certainly didn’t come looking for him. But the foster system had gotten its hands on him again, and he was staying with another couple in town. As far as Allie could tell, they were decent people.

“Allie…” Will started, and then paused. He stepped forward before he continued. “Are you avoiding me?”

She lowered her eyes, ashamed. Will needed her now more than any other time before, and she was letting him down. “I am sorry, Will. It’s just been a lot.”

“I know, but we don’t have to deal with it alone. It’s hard for me too, you know.”

“Yeah… yeah, I know. I am sorry. I guess I’m just doing what I do best. I push people away.”

She went to sit on the porch steps, and Will joined her. He kept a safe distance between the two of them, and she was grateful. The two months since The Rebellion had been complicated.

“How’s your parents?” he asked.

“Good, I guess. We’re all trying to wrap our heads around it all.”

“Are they asking questions?”

“Yeah. I can’t say I have answers for them, though.”

“Did you tell them? About New Ham.”

“No. Not really. I don’t see how they would even believe any of it.”

“Yeah. The couple I’m staying with, they’re real nice, but they’re also super curious. I’m suspecting they took me in mostly because they wanted the freshest scoops on those kids that disappeared and magically came back.”

“What have you been telling them?”

“Nothing, really. There’s no way they’d believe it.”

She smiled cynically, and nodded her understanding.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “when I wake up, there’s a moment when I wonder if it was all a dream.”

“And then you realize it wasn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Does that make you sad?”

Will sighed, wriggling his fingers as his arms rested on his knees. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I think being back is what makes me sad. Like I had a purpose in New Ham, but not here.”

Sometimes, Allie forgot how different all of this was for Will. The rest of them had families to go back to. He didn’t. As harsh as life had been in New Ham, at least they had all been equal on one front: they were all orphans there.

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“It’s okay. It just needs some getting used to.”

“And I’m sorry I ignored your texts.”

“It’s okay.”

He looked her in the eyes, and reached for her hand.

She pulled it away before he could hold it.

“Allie,” he sighed. “You’re not in charge, anymore. You don’t have to care about what the others will think.”

“I know, it’s just… It’s too soon.”

“Will it always be too soon, Allie? Because there’s always something, with you.”

She tried not to be hurt. She had no right to be. And yet, here she was. Hurt. And angry.

“What do you want, Will? Do you want me to pretend that it’s all fine, now? That the shit we’ve been through and the things we’ve done don’t matter anymore?”

“No, but – ”

“What I’ve done will _always_ be there, hanging over me, Will. I don’t think I’ll ever be free.”

Will stared at her blankly, as the sounds of the night – which were so, so much louder in this world – surrounded them.

When he spoke, he did not sound angry anymore. “What _you_ ’ve done is what _we_ ’ve done. You didn’t do it alone. So how about you share some of that burden with me, huh?”

Allie blinked a few times, thoughtful, before she nodded almost imperceptibly.

At least, in this world, they could still see the stars, even if less clearly with the greater light pollution. Together, they stared at the stars, one of the few things still connecting them to New Ham.

Their peaceful silence was only disrupted by a text message, around 9:53PM.

_Did you hear? Elle is gone._


	3. Elle Tomkins

“So, Elle. I hope you’ve been spending quality time with your family, since being back.”

Chief Holbrook offered a seemingly genuine smile, to complement his attempt at a kind, unintimidating voice. Elle didn’t think she liked him.

Ever since their return, everyone seemed to handle them with care, like packages stamped with the word “FRAGILE” all over. Elle _was_ fragile, she supposed. She certainly didn’t feel strong. That was a word for the likes of Allie Pressman, or Helena, or the Guard.

Or Campbell.

Thinking of him still sent shivers down her back, no matter how hard she worked to suppress it. If that didn’t qualify her as fragile, she didn’t know what would.

Faced with no response, Chief Holbrook coughed awkwardly, and went on talking.

“Anyway, thank you for meeting with me. The past weeks have been… confusing, to say the least. I guess we’re just trying to piece it all back together.”

Elle stared at him, but said nothing. Chief Holbrook was growing noticeably more uncomfortable with each passing second under her quiet scrutiny.

“I’ve talked to some of the kids,” he continued, trying to fill in the silence as much as possible, “and I gotta say, I don’t really get this whole New Ham thing, but if there’s one thing that I’m getting, it’s that it sounds like it’s been rough for you guys.”

Elle blinked. Arms crossed, blank expression. Chief Holbrook wondered if he remembered her saying anything since she set foot in the police station. He hadn’t seen her much around town lately. He wondered if there was something wrong with her. If the past eight months had turned her into an empty shell of a person.

Hesitantly, Chief Holbrook kept going. “Some of our kids never came back. From what I’ve been able to gather, Emily Warner died of a snake bite. Cassandra Pressman was killed by Greg Dewey, who was then killed in some kind of vengeance, but the circumstances vary in every account. But nothing is as unclear and inconsistent as the accounts of Campbell Eliot’s death. It’s quite confusing. I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about that.”

The croaking voice that replied took him by surprise. By this point, he almost expected her to be mute.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you think I can tell you more about Campbell than others already have?”

Chief Holbrook nodded mechanically as he considered his answer. “I’ve been getting the impression that you two were an item at some point.”

This time, Elle retracted back to silence.

Chief Holbrook smiled with sympathy. “I’ve also been getting the impression that he was not a very kind boyfriend.”

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The chief held up both hands defensively. “Of course not. I only want your side of the story.”

“There’s not much to tell. I was home when it happened.”

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly a thriving member of society then.”

The chief nodded again.

“Do you know who killed him?”

“Who says he was killed?”

“Killed, executed… I’ve heard all kinds of stories, even some that said it was an accident, or that he just disappeared. But those sounded a little fabricated.”

“Maybe I’ll lie too.”

“Maybe you will. I just want to hear what you have to say.”

This time, when Elle looked him in the eyes, it wasn’t empty, or blank. It was dark, and chilling.

“I don’t know who did this. I don’t know how it happened. But there’s one thing you need to know.”

“And what is that?”

“Campbell Eliot deserved every little bit of what he got that day.”

o0o0o

_It had been six days since the coup, when Helena arrived at church to find only two other people there._

_Elle._

_And Campbell._

_They sat on opposite ends of the room. Elle, in her usual tense posture, making herself as small as physically possible, was contemplative. She looked like she was praying. Campbell, on the other hand, exuded confidence with his expansive posture, taking up as much space as he possibly could. He was sitting a little further back, so Elle could pretend he wasn’t there, even though his shadow must have been in her peripheral vision. He was chewing gum loudly, and he watched Elle, like a bird of prey circling around its next victim. Ready to pounce._

_Elle was practically never seen in town, since her release from Allie’s arrest, and when she_ was _out, it was always with Campbell. She never left his sight, and even though she put up a peaceful front in public, her eyes were empty. The sight of her walking around town, like a zombie, with her watchdog constantly on her trail, gave Helena chills every time._

_Helena stared at Campbell distrustfully as she made her way to where Elle was sitting. She ignored Campbell’s arrogant, toothy smile as she passed him._

_“Hey,” she offered, as she sat next to Elle, with just enough space between them to keep it unthreatening. She almost whispered her greeting, even if she knew that, in a small wooden church like theirs, there was no way to keep sound from travelling to Campbell._

_Elle looked at Helena’s knees rather than her face, and smiled slightly._

_“How are you?” Helena asked, knowing she wouldn’t get an honest answer._

_“Good.” Elle’s voice was suffocated. More air came out of her mouth than actual sound._

_“Crazy, what’s going on, huh?”_

_“That bitch Allie is getting what she deserves.”_

_Helena’s eyebrows rose at the sudden outburst. Even if spoken softly and weakly, its tone bore a hatred that was uncharacteristic of Elle._

_Helena frowned._

_“Did she do anything to you, while she kept you under arrest?”_

_Elle wringed her fingers nervously over her lap. “No.”_

_Something was wrong with Elle, but with Campbell in the room, there was no wondering why. Helena tried to think of a way to ask Elle if she needed help, without alerting the predator that unabashedly observed them. She could think of nothing._

_“Are you okay?” was all she could find to say, whispering as softly as she could._

_“Why do you ask?” Elle responded louder, in an oddly defiant manner._

_“I just… I worry.” Helena kept her voice low, but Elle’s chest inflated with newfound confidence._

_She looked infuriated. Her anger was sudden, and it destabilized Helena._

_“Why? You think I can’t take care of myself?”_

_“No, I – ”_

_“I have Campbell. He takes care of me, he keeps me safe. Are you implying something?”_

_“No, Elle – ”_

_Elle stood up before Helena could finish her sentence. “You know what, Helena? I’m tired of your self-righteousness. You think you’re so much better than all of us, that you’re everyone’s savior._ News flash _, you’re not God!”_

_Helena was too shocked to answer. She watched as Elle turned and left, rejoining Campbell at the exit. She watched Campbell give her a self-assured nod and smile as he followed Elle out. She thought she even saw him wink._

_Scoffing, Helena turned back to look at Jesus hanging on the cross, on the rightmost part of the front wall._

_Something caught her attention, at the corner of her eye._

_On the bench, right where Elle had sat a minute ago, was little of piece of paper, folded up to be small and inconspicuous._

_A note._

o0o0o

The little girls at InMotion Studio, West Ham’s ballet school, were stretching in their little tutus and slippers. They were too young for point shoes. They still had a few years of perfecting their posture and strength before they could endure the pain of weighing your entire body weight on the tips of your toes.

It had been so long since Elle had been in this studio. While in New Ham, she had made it a point to avoid it. It hadn’t been particularly hard to do, what with Campbell keeping her under house arrest for most of her time in that world.

Dancing had been her crutch, once. Her, the awkward kid, the mute with no friends. When she danced, she could forget. She could be someone else, play a character. When she danced, she was graceful, she was in control. She was good, too. Miss Hansen had always said so, and she believed her. Miss Hansen was one of those people you easily trusted. Nothing like her mom. And certainly nothing like her stepdad.

Life at home was good now in some ways. Better than before.

Elle’s mom was the epitome of kind and doting, treating her like a true princess, a returned prodigy. She made her food and treats, took care of her like she was ten years old again. Even her stepdad was acting nice, now that she was back.

It was all fake, though. The way they gravitated around her, smiled all the time. It felt like a big, elaborate charade that could crack at any time.

She left the house this morning, not knowing where she wanted to go, but just knowing she needed to be _out_.

After months of avoiding this place, she’d been drawn to it almost unknowingly. She had almost forgotten how it looked, but when she’d seen the bright fuschia letters of the studio’s name, wrapped in the interwoven laces of the logo’s point shoes, it felt like not a single day had passed since the last time she had been here.

The little girls were facing the mirror, awkwardly trying to follow their teacher’s song-like instructions. Elle couldn’t see her from where she stood, outside the room, peering in, but she recognized Miss Hansen’s voice. Instantly, she felt soothed by it. The sight of those girls struggling with coordination and grace at such a young age pulled a smile out of her.

One girl spotted Elle’s reflection in the mirror and turned around to stare. In a matter of seconds, the domino effect did its trick, and half the girls were twisting their necks to look at the intruder. Miss Hansen’s voice chastised the girl, before Elle caught a glimpse of her old teacher, who saw her too.

Miss Hansen was short, dark-haired with hints of grey. She was in her mid-fifties. Once a successful ballet dancer, she was now stuck teaching small-town kids how to keep their backs straight. That was, at least, how Elle perceived it. Miss Hansen would never complain about the kids she took on. In many ways, she was like a second mother to girls who needed it.

Girls like Elle.

When Miss Hansen’s eyes met Elle’s, and she saw recognition bloom in those grey irises, she panicked.

She ran away. Miss Hansen calling her name rang in her ears as she fled down the stairs and out the door. As she quickly paced away from the studio, she wondered why she had come. Why she had thought it would be a good idea to confront the past like this. Her heart was beating fast, and adrenaline rushed through her veins. She felt sick.

Maybe she had just needed to make sure.

That life had kept its course while she was gone.

o0o0o

The house was quiet when she got back.

She had walked around town for what must have been hours. It was dark out. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but everyone seemed to be asleep.

That was, until a deep, low voice emerged from the stillness.

“Where were you?”

She jumped. She laid a hand on her heart as she recognized her stepdad’s figure in the dark.

“Darryl, you scared me.”

“Where were you?” he repeated, unfazed. His voice was serious, and sounded like a warning.

Elle felt a cold breeze against her lower back, even though the door was closed, and there were no windows around.

“I was just out, I needed some fresh air.”

“For the whole day?” His voice was even, almost void of emotion, but she felt the anger boiling underneath. She had always known to see it coming.

“Is mom here?”

“ _Don’t_ change the subject. Your mother’s asleep. You had her worried all day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You _should_ be! After everything you’ve put your mother through, pulling something like this…”

Elle could barely see her stepdad’s features in the dim lighting, but the more he spoke, the closer he drew to her, and the deeper her heart sank.

“Darryl, I didn’t disappear on purpose.” she reminded him weakly.

“ _Don’t_ fucking give me excuses, you…” He paused, catching himself before an insult slipped out.

Not that it mattered, really. Elle had heard them all.

Darryl breathed in slowly, and composed himself. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said, now eerily calm. “You disappear for months with all of your friends, let your mother think you’re dead, and then when you’re tired of partying and acting like a slut, here you are, coming back and letting your poor mother treat you like a queen.”

“It’s not like that! I – ”

Darryl grabbed her arm, hard, and the aching pressure shut her up.

“ _Don’t_ talk back. It’s about time you learn some manners.”

Elle looked at him, scared, waiting for the next phase of this outburst.

It never came. The oppressing silence felt interminable. Her heart beat in her chest like it wanted out. The fingers pressing into the skin and nerves of her arm felt like they were leaving a bruise, but she could find no ounce of strength to speak back, or fight back.

Eventually, he let her go. “We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow,” he said as he went upstairs.

She let her back slide against the door until she sat on the floor. She heard him rummage upstairs, probably brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed.

She felt angry. Fire burned in her insides. But none of it was directed at Darryl.

All of it was for her own, weak self.

She was fragile.

And she was sick of it.

o0o0o

The following morning, the 7:10 for New York came to West Ham. It appeared slowly, like a mirage, and was gone in the snap of a finger.

Fifteen minutes later, the 7:25 came. So did the 7:40. Elle watched all three trains come and go, fascinated, yet aloof. She hadn’t thought she would get to see a train again. Or civilization as a whole, for that matter. She stared blankly at the small crowds swarming to get off or on the train before it left the platform. She saw it, she recognized it all, yet none of it fully made sense to her anymore. Like a work evolving on the other side of a one-sided mirror. She could see them, they couldn’t see her.

But they _could_ see her, of course. She couldn’t ignore the stares, the whispers. People recognizing her as one of those kids who disappeared, was thought dead, and then reappeared out of nowhere, with no explanation.

She fiddled mindlessly with the empty can of energy drink in her hand, thanks to which she was still awake after a sleepless night. In truth, she hadn’t properly slept in a long time, and not because of the whole inexplicable matter of having reappeared in West Ham without understanding why or how. She couldn’t even blame Campbell for it.

New Ham had been Hell. But if she was honest to herself, West Ham hadn’t been much better. There hadn’t been Campbell then, but Campbell hadn’t been the first.

No, there was a reason Elle had always been reserved, unable to connect with other people her age. There was a reason she knew anti-freeze was a potent poison, easy to conceal in dessert due to its sweet taste. She had looked it up a long time ago, unaware she would actually use that piece of knowledge one day. It had just been reassuring for her to have it.

She had been broken long before New Ham.

The 7:55 sounded its approach. It drew up to the platform slowly and painfully, as if it dragged the entire weight of an imaginary and impossible world along with it. People disembarked, people boarded. By the time it left the platform three minutes later, Elle was nowhere to be seen.

On that peaceful, sunny morning of March, Elle Tomkins hopped on a train.

And disappeared from West Ham forever.


	4. Helena Wu

Chief Holbrook smiled at Helena, and it felt sincere enough.

“It’s a shame, really. That you and Luke aren’t in good terms.”

He seemed genuinely regretful, and that was the only thing that kept Helena from losing her cool. Instead, she replied calmly.

“Not all teen romances are meant to last, unfortunately.”

“Some are.”

“Yes. Some.”

She didn’t want to talk about Luke. Chief Holbrook took the hint.

“Anyway, Helena. There’s been multiple mentions of guns, in your colleagues’ accounts of what happened in that place you call New Ham. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but your father is a known hunting enthusiast, is he not?”

Helena did not lose her composure.

The chief had always found her a lovely girl. Polite. Kind. Sweet. The young woman he saw before him now, however, did not look sweet at all. Even with a light smile on her lips, she looked cool, and impenetrable. Weirdly intimidating.

“Many families around town own guns, chief. You certainly know that.”

The chief nodded. “That is true.” He linked his fingers together in a show of intent listening. “So, just for the record, you claim your guns were not implicated in any violent crimes that occurred in this New Ham?”

Helena paused. Yet, she didn’t seem to hesitate at all. From the start of this conversation, she had been eerily in control. The chief would have found it more suspicious, had he not known her for so long.

Rather than answering his question, Helena calmly leaned in and looked him straight in the eye.

“You were in the military, sir, were you not?”

“I was,” he confirmed.

“Then you must have seen true horror. You know what I mean. The kind that captivates you, fascinates you, and then haunts you forever.”

The chief shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I suppose I have. Is that how you would describe what you’ve seen in New Ham?”

Helena leaned back into her chair, as if she had proven her point. Still, she went on. “Have you ever witnessed abuse, sir? Do you know what it’s like, to be afraid for your life within the confines of your own home?”

“Are you talking about yourself, here, Helena?”

“No. I am a lucky one, you could say. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“I see. Am I to understand we are referring to Miss Tomkins, then?”

“I didn’t say anything about Elle, but that you would mention her implies you know more about it then you are letting on.”

The chief could sense they were at an impasse.

He sighed.

o0o0o

_Elle’s message had been brief._

Come see me tonight. 6:30PM.

_That was when the town meeting was scheduled to happen. It was the first official town meeting led by Harry and Lexie as co-mayors. Everyone expected some kind of shit-show, but in the wake of Allie and Will’s betrayal, no one voiced their concerns too loud. Harry and Lexie weren’t exactly a duo they wanted, but it was better than a dictator willing to tamper with elections, they supposed._

_The meeting was also mandatory. Allie’s rules had been maintained, and to keep your weekly rations, you had to attend all weekly town meetings._

_Unless, Helena mused, your boyfriend was a guard, and a member of the newly minted City Council._

_At 5:45PM, she started experiencing severe cramps. She laid in bed, folded in foetal position, while Luke eyed her worriedly. She had always had intense menstrual cramp, but with pain meds, they were manageable. How inconvenient that she would have recently run out, huh?_

_“Do you need to stay home, babe?”_

_“I don’t know if I can…” Helena whimpered. “It’s mandatory.”_

_“Hey…” he sat on the bed next to her and brushed the hair off her face. “It’s fine, I’ll tell them how bad it is, you’ll be fine. Worst case, if they cut your rations, we’ll share mine. It’s just one meeting.”_

_She smiled through the pain, and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”_

_“Hey, don’t even worry about it. Get some rest, and I’ll try to get you some more of those pain meds when I get back.”_

_He left the house at 6:15PM. At 6:20PM, Helena slipped out of the house._

o0o0o

Helena’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she walked down the main road, towards the church. She pulled it out to read the new text.

 _Can we talk?_ It was Luke. Again.

She sighed and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

As she stepped inside the church, the sight of people – especially adults – sitting inside and praying was unsettling. Once again, she had to remind herself that this was normal. It was no longer _just_ them in here.

She made toward a seat in a back row, when she noticed a red head of hair she recognized, just a few rows ahead.

She walked up and waved at Sam, who turned to look at her, and smiled. She pointed at the seat next to him, while mouthing, _can I sit?_

Sam nodded and scooted further down the pew to make room for her.

Helena used to see Sam fairly often in church, before everything. They had never been close, but had always gravitated within the same social circles. They both came from religious families, and this was a small town.

After everything they had been through, you’d think they would spend every minute of every day with the loved ones they had so sorely missed. Yet here they were, both of them seeking solitude in the house of God.

 _Praying?_ she mouthed and gestured.

Sam nodded. She smiled _. Me too,_ she mouthed again.

Neither of them really prayed, however.

“How’s Becca? And Eden?” she asked in a whisper, but articulating well enough for him to read her lips.

“Good,” he spoke and signed at the same time. “Becca’s glad to have her parents back. They’ve been supportive. Parenting is less lonely with them around.”

Helena took notice of what he did not say. “How about your parents?”

Sam sighed. “It’s…”

“SHHT,” an old lady shushed angrily a few rows down. Helena recognized Mrs. Rose, who lived three houses down on her street. She’d never liked her.

Helena glared in response. Sam was deaf, of course he wouldn’t know how poorly he whispered.

When she felt a light touch on her arm, she turned her attention back to Sam. He waved a hand to let her know it was fine, and he pulled out his phone. He started typing, and soon enough, she felt the buzzing in her pocket. She pulled out her phone as well.

_It’s been weird, to be honest_

_I thought seeing my family again would be the best thing to happen_

_but I’ve just been feeling so guilty_

Helena raised her eyes from the screen to look at him quizzically, before she typed back.

_Is it because of Campbell?_

When she looked up, he nodded.

_Yes_

_I’m back and he’s not_

_my parents are sad_

_but I’m not_

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head before he added,

_I mean, I’m sad they’re sad, but not that Campbell’s gone_

Helena nodded her understanding, then responded.

_It’s normal to feel guilty, but it’s not your fault_

They looked at each other and he mouthed _I know._

Knowing it and feeling it were different things entirely, of course.

Sam continued typing.

_I also feel like I’m going back in the closet somehow_

_Because of Becca and Eden, they’ve kind of assumed we’re a couple_

_even though they know I’m gay_

_and they’re so happy about it_

_and it’s like, after Campbell and everything, I can’t break their heart_

_it’s like their only joy right now_

Helena shook her head.

 _Not their only joy I am sure,_ she wrote back.

Sam shrugged.

_Becca and I moved into her parents’ basement_

_with the baby, our parents thought that would be best_

_having our own space, it’s helping_

_less suffocating_

Helena could understand that. The suffocation. Having wanted to be back so bad, for so long, and now being unable to stand the structure. After eight months of survival, of building a society, of making horrible decisions, there they were, back at their parents’, expected to act like normal teenagers.

It felt impossible.

 _I think it’ll get easier with time,_ she wrote back.

Sam nodded.

_I hope you’re right_

They spent the rest of the hour in silence. Half praying, half reflecting.

When Sam finally stood up to leave, she grabbed his hand and squeeze. _Goodbye_ , he signed to her with his other hand. It was one of the few signs that she knew, so she mirrored it.

Minutes after he left, she felt her phone vibrate on her lap.

On her screen, Luke asked _Where are you?_

She ignored it.

o0o0o

_Helena had always considered herself a horrible actress. She had never been into theater, and she was the kind of person who just couldn’t come up with a convincing lie._

_Ironically, life in New Ham had prepared her for the role of her life. Once she learned the truth from Elle, she had to go home to Luke and pretend everything was fine. He kept up the lie that Allie was corrupt, and that Harry and Lexie were doing an okay job with his help. She kept up the lie that she was proud of him. Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, both leading double lives._

_Elle had told Helena she had promised Allie to help. But under Campbell’s watchful eye, there was nothing she could really do. She needed help herself._

_She needed Helena. And so Helena helped._

_She spread the word discretely, to Kelly and Gordie first, and together they enrolled the help of Bean, Gwen, Grizz, Gretchen, Sam and Becca. Those were the only people they trusted with the information, but they were enough._

_Enough to build what would be known as The Rebellion._

_It all happened in a matter of days. It had to be fast. People weren’t happy after Harry and Lexie’s first town meeting, but soon, they’d grow numb and complacent. They had to act fast, preferably at the very next town meeting. Beyond that would be too late._

_Among the most reticent were Grizz and Bean. If Kelly, Gordie and Gretchen needed no convincing and were ready to fight for what was right, Grizz and Bean identified as pacifist. They hated violence and conflict – Bean was a vegetarian and Grizz was into gardening, for christ’s sake! – and the thought of wreaking havoc in town, for a second time in a matter of weeks, only sparked anxiety and unease._

_But of course, this was Allie they were talking about, and they couldn’t let her down._

_The last to be onboarded were Sam and Becca. Kelly went to meet them at the clinic under the ruse of a postnatal checkup, and she told them everything._

_Once they had everyone, they needed to finetune their plan._

_And for that plan to work, they needed Elle._

o0o0o

When Helena came downstairs for breakfast in the morning, she found Luke sitting at her kitchen table, alone.

“Your dad let me in,” he explained.

Damnit. Her dad had always had a soft spot for Luke.

“Can we just talk? Before you throw me out?”

“Why?”

“You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

She crossed her arms, creating a shield between her and her ex-fiancé.

“I didn’t see the point,” she replied calmly.

“Helena…” Luke stood up, as if to add gravitas to his words. “I know I lied to you, I betrayed people we cared about, but you know I did that to protect you.”

He took a step forward. She took one back.

“Correction: you were protecting yourself.”

“Helena,” Luke sighed. “If you think I care about myself anywhere near how much I care about you, then you don’t know me at all.”

“Yeah. I guess I _don’t_ know you at all.”

Luke’s shoulders slumped. Helena hated that she felt guilty.

“Look, Luke,” she continued. “I am not angry anymore. You made me doubt my friends, you lied to me, but I forgave you a long time ago. I just can’t be with you, not after everything.”

Denial gave way to irritation, and Luke’s lips tightened. “We all did things we’re not proud of, Helena.”

Helena was not amused, but a smile adorned her lips. “Oh, I know. I have to live with my demons. You live with yours.”

Luke looked hesitant, unsure of whether they meant the same things at all. Helena knew this conversation would go nowhere. Hence why she’d avoided it.

“Just because we’re back home doesn’t erase what happened in New Ham,” she added for good measure.

“I know.”

“You made a pact with the devil, Luke. Your intentions were good, but intentions only mean so much.” Then, as an afterthought, “I’m sorry.”

It was final. Without another word, Luke grabbed his jacket and left the room. She heard the whining of the front door as it opened and closed again.

Good old Luke. Still incapable of slamming a door for good measure.

Oh, she was no fool. She still loved him.

But things were different now.

o0o0o

_The town was quiet in the days after the coup._

_People came out to work, as per normal. But classes and social activities were practically deserted. When people walked down the street, they did so mechanically. They looked like soulless creatures going through the motions._

_After the initial anger and outrage, the population of New Ham slipped into a sort of collective depression. Betrayed by a leader they did not all like, but all thought they could trust, they no longer knew if they could trust anyone anymore._

_Helena tried to ignore the blank faces as she made her way to Campbell’s house._

_She was discrete, she couldn’t afford to be seen. She waited for him to leave the house. There was a council meeting at Harry’s house. Even without an official seat on the council, Campbell was clearly running the show, showing up at every meeting._

_When Campbell was far enough down the street, Helena drew up to the back of the house, and knocked on the backdoor._

_Elle opened the door quietly. Helena gave her the shoebox she had carried from home, and handed it out to her. No words were exchanged, there was a note inside for Elle to find (and destroy)._

_With the note, a gun. For protection._

_Just in case._


	5. Harry Bingham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you hadn't noticed, there are a lot of characters in this story. Which means a lot of exposition needs to happen.
> 
> I thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this depressing chapter nonetheless. :)

If Chief Holbrook had found Elle Tomkins weirdly unresponsive, he quickly realized Harry Bingham could give him a run for his money.

He had known the kid for years. He had known his mom, even before she was elected mayor. Harry had always seemed a little laidback, but never _this_ quiet. He had once been a cocky teenage boy who thought the world owed him everything; now he looked like the world itself was too much to handle. His skin was ivory pale, and his cheeks sunk into his skull. He looked sick. If not already dead.

“Hey son. Good to see you.”

Harry nodded without eye contact. He hadn't stopped staring at the ground since getting here. He didn’t give off a rude vibe, weirdly enough. It just looked like he lacked the energy to interact in any way.

“Are you okay, son?”

Harry nodded again. “I’m okay. Just a little tired, is all.”

The chief did not believe a word of it, but nodded nonetheless.

o0o0o

_It was the second town meeting for Harry and Lexie as co-mayors._

_The first one had been a mess. Everyone had questions, and the council had few answers. They deferred back to Allie’s rules, which made the town question what was the point of new leadership if everything stayed the same. Lexie reminded them that Allie had been a corrupt leader. Harry declared that they could all move back to their houses, effective immediately. That seemed to calm them down. For a while._

_Two minutes into this second meeting, and it was already a disaster. They had rehearsed their answers to all the anticipated questions, but the citizens of New Ham were not satisfied. Within minutes, they were all speaking over each other, and neither Lexie nor Harry knew how to get them under control. The Guard was jumping in, but their yelling only made it worse._

_Harry dazedly wondered where the hell Campbell was. He never missed meetings like that. Harry hadn’t had his fix today, and he was already sweating like a pig. He couldn’t think straight, and he could only watch it all unfold from a distance as if dissociated._

_He was only half aware of the latecomers confidently filing into the room, fifteen minutes after the start; Helena, Kelly, Gordie, Bean, Gretchen, Grizz, and Gwen. He vaguely mused about how weird it was, that they would all be late, and show up at the same time. They had to know they’d get in trouble with the Guard over that._

_He didn’t register what was happening until Helena raised her arm and the loudest bang resonated in the whole room. There were screams as people dropped to the floor. And then silence._

_The rebels made their way to the front of the room unhindered. Even the Guard stayed clear, with the handful of guns pointed their way._

_“Everyone,” Helena spoke up. “We apologize for this entrance. We assure you no one will get hurt today. These people have lied to you for weeks, and we only hope to protect you and ourselves as we bring you the truth.”_

_“What the f – ” Jason burst out, stepping forward. Gordie pointed his gun at him, and he quieted down._

_“The truth is, people,” Helena continued, “that Allie never betrayed you. She never intended to steal the election. Just the morning of the day it all went south, I spoke to her, and she was embracing the possibility of losing the election. Yes, Allie had her flaws, but she is not corrupt. Unlike these two.” She pointed at Harry and Lexie, still frozen on the dais. “They, with the help of Campbell and the Guard, decided that they wanted power, and wouldn’t just ask for it. They’d take it. All they had to do was use force to arrest Allie and Will, and then tell everyone that they’d tried to steal the election. Easy, no?”_

_To most, the glare Helena threw the Guard was aimed at all of them._ _Luke, however, knew it was meant for him._

_That’s the moment Lexie chose to step forward. “And all_ you _’d have to do is barge in here with guns and say we’ve been lying this whole time. How are we supposed to believe what you say? Where’s your proof?”_

_Helena nodded. “Yes, you’re right. We've had enough of lies. We need proof.”_

_She looked to the back of the room and gave a little nod. Following that signal, Sam stepped into the room, his crying baby strapped to his chest. The gunshot had been loud and scary, even from the outside. To his left, Elle held his arm, quietly following his lead._ _Sam took her to the front, as everyone stared in awe. Helena welcomed her with a comforting hand on the shoulder. Sam then withdrew with the hiccupping Eden, in search of a quieter place to soothe the child. Elle stayed by Helena’s side._

_Staring at the ground, Elle spoke about Campbell. What he had done to her. She told the crowd how Allie was the one to come to her rescue, and how she arrested her for her own protection. How when she was released, she was thrown back to her very own brand of Hell. She raised her shirt to expose the bruises on her stomach. There were gasps._

_Then she went on to talk about what she had overheard, from council meetings held at their house. She had recorded some bits of it on her phone._

_Harry was out of it by then, but even in his blurry state of mind, he knew one thing for sure._

_They were fucked._

o0o0o

The first week back home felt like a miracle.

Back with his family, in his home, no longer having to carry out his ‘sentence,’ in this world where Allie’s authority no longer held any ground, it was like the weight of the past months just lifted off his shoulders. How could he be depressed when he had his mom and his little sister right here at home, with him, just like before?

He should have known not to expect it to last. For months before coming home, he had felt empty and heavy, as if his limbs were made of lead and his head was clouded with darkness. People had told him to get _over_ it already, if he wanted to survive; he would hear them, and consistently fail to _do_ anything about it. For months, he had wished every day that he would die in his sleep, so he wouldn’t have to wake up to another day like this. Yes, he should have known better. Depression was not something you just cured. Of course the rush of adrenaline that seeing his sister’s smile had sent through his veins would fade away. The darkness would return. It was only a matter of time.

It took about a week. Slowly, it became harder and harder to get up in the morning, to hold conversations, and to just go about his day. He would stay in bed longer, and longer, until he stopped getting up entirely. He would watch TV in bed until even that was too much.

And he’d sleep. For days.

He was aware of his mother and sister coming in to see him, trying to coax him out of bed, but their voices sounded muffled, distant. When he wasn’t lost in the soft embrace of sleep, he was in too much pain to bear.

He was painfully aware of the burden he was to his family, who had gotten used to his absence. They were rejoiced to have him back, and yet, he could only think of how much easier their lives would be if he just… wasn’t there.

Part of him knew these thoughts were bullshit, just his mind playing tricks on him. Another part of him wasn’t so sure.

Every time, he found himself thinking back to the moments of clarity and lightness that he'd had in New Ham, those few moments where he had felt like himself, rather than like a useless rag. Those happened when Campbell slipped him those pills. They brought him release.

Maybe he could get that again.

Dragging himself out of bed seemed impossible, but he managed it, somehow. He did not shower, did not style his hair. He feared that spending whatever little energy he had on such menial tasks would get him back to bed before he could even make it out of the house.

West Ham was a small town, but a quick venture on some dubious forums got him a contact he could use. A few texts were exchanged, a meeting point was set.

Walking down the streets wearing half proper clothes, half pyjamas, Harry made it to the dark corner-alley he’d always thought looked like an ideal drug dealer hangout spot. Here he was, months later, playing the part of the client. The man, rather short, wearing a hood, showed up. They exchanged words that Harry barely registered. Harry gave the man some money, and got a tiny packet of pills in return.

Harry did not have time to check out the goods. It just happened so fast. One minute he was buying drugs from a stranger in a dark alley, the next, there were police officers, coming out of nowhere. Had it all been an elaborate catfishing trick? Was it just one of those preposterous cases of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The rest was a blur. He was at the station. His mother came to get him. He heard her agree with the chief that what this _poor young man_ needed was help and support, not a criminal record. He momentarily wished he could feel relief at this time. Or shame. Or any feeling at all.

His mom said nothing as she led him out of the station, all the way to the car.

She fumbled with the keys, trying to start the car. He noticed a single tear gliding along her right cheek.

He said nothing of it.

o0o0o

His mom signed him up to rehab. There was no discussion to be had.

They visited every day. His mom carried the heavy lifting of the small talk, while his sister kept quiet. They consistently avoided the elephant in the room.

On day three, his mom left the room to buy everyone some snacks. Daniela was left alone with the silent, slumped figure of her big brother. She sniffed, which first drew Harry’s attention to her. There were no tears in her eyes, she was way too proud for that. Instead, she looked angry. Almost vindictive.

“Don’t you love us anymore?” Her question was a challenge, and the accompanying glare was fiery in its intensity.

Harry’s answer was a pained, confused frown.

Daniela continued. “Aren’t you happy you’re back? Because I’m happy you’re back with us. At least I was. Mom cried every day while you were gone. Never in front of me, of course. But I knew. I heard it. Her eyes were always red. She missed you Harry. And I missed you too, even though you don’t deserve it.” Like him, Daniela had never liked dishing out her feelings. “We’re happy you’re back. _Why aren’t you_?”

Harry had nothing wise to say.

All he could do was feel his muscles tense with pain. A pain that was not physical, but felt like he could still succumb to it if he just... let go.

Daniela stayed silent after that; until their mom returned and resumed chatting about pointless things, just to fill the silence.


	6. Grizz Visser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, Grizzam.

“You know,” Chief Holbrook grumbled as he stirred milk into his coffee, “I am starting to think I am going about this all wrong. Maybe I’m not asking the questions that really matter.”

The teenager sitting on the sofa, facing him, nodded hesitantly. He had been offered coffee, hot chocolate, water. He had declined it all, and was now wringing his hands between his knees, as he awaited what would actually sound like a question.

“So, let’s start at the beginning, Gareth.” The chief put down his mug on the table. “ _Where_ were you kids all this time?”

Grizz, looking down at the day-old rings of dried coffee on the table, seemed to ponder the question for a moment.

“I am not sure there is a satisfying answer to that question, sir. In a way, we were here, and in another, we weren’t.”

Chief Holbrook held in a grunt of frustration. He had to remind himself this was one of his son’s friends. Gareth Visser had always been a decent kid, smart, polite, well-behaved. It wasn’t his fault that none of this made sense.

“Based on all the versions I am hearing, it sounds like you were in a place that doesn’t actually exist,” he contented himself with saying. He didn’t mean it as criticism, however. He was just a man who thought he had seen it all, and who was starting to question that very belief.

Still, Grizz took the comment seriously. He frowned, thinking for a few seconds, before speaking up again.

“Just because it doesn’t exist now doesn’t mean it never existed.”

The chief figured he might as well bite. “And what do you mean by that, son?”

“Have you ever heard of Schrödinger’s cat, sir?”

Now it was the chief’s turn to frown. “Can’t say that I have, no.”

“Schrödinger was a scientist, who did this thought experiment. If you were to put a cat in a box, and with it something that could kill it, like a radioactive atom or something, then – ”

“Hold up, you mean to say this Showding-something guy killed a cat for his experiment?”

“It’s Schrödinger. And no! No, it’s… a thought experiment. He didn’t actually do it, he just theorized.”

“Oh. Like philosophy?”

“… In a sense, yeah.”

“So what did he say about that dead cat?”

“Well, here’s the thing: because the cat is in a sealed box, there’s no way to know if the cat is dead or alive. Maybe the toxic agent killed it, maybe it didn’t. But so long as that box is sealed, both possibilities exist. One possibility being that the cat is alive, the other that it is dead. So, in a sense, for a moment, that cat is both alive _and_ dead. That is, of course, until the box is opened. Then, the outcome is revealed – dead or alive – and the disproven alternative suddenly stops to exist. It existed, and then it didn’t.”

Chief Holbrook’s frown only deepened. “You’ve lost me there, son.”

Grizz sighed, dejectedly.

“Yeah. That happens a lot, actually.”

o0o0o

_There was a trial. Again._

_This time, seven people were on the side of the accused: Lexie, Harry, Clark, Jason, Luke, Shoe, and Campbell. Although, only six were physically there to witness their trial. Campbell had been injured, and was being treated in a secure location. Something smelled fishy about the brief explanation Allie gave about his absence, but Grizz knew better than to ask too many questions at this point._

_The left side of the church was looking like one of those clown cars with too many clowns in it. No one was laughing._

_It all gave a sense of déjà vu. Allie was the judge, sending a clear message that she was back in charge and no longer cared about conflicts of interest when the stability of New Ham’s society was in jeopardy. A jury was carefully selected, and while none of them were members of the Rebellion, Grizz could not ignore how they just all happened to be Allie sympathizers._

_Gordie was the prosecution. Helena was deemed unfit for the defense, having practically led the Rebellion. Kelly was chosen in her place. She was, among those Allie trusted, one of the few known to bear some sympathy for the accused, particularly for Harry. It had required some convincing, but Allie was not going to take no for an answer._

_Grizz being the only remaining member of the Guard while the rest was facing trial, some temporary guards were recruited and armed with guns, to make up for their lack of physical menace. Grizz didn’t like it, and he knew Allie didn’t either. These were trying times._

_As he watched Gordie and Kelly interview witnesses, as he watched the world once again topple over before his very eyes, he couldn’t help his gaze zoning in onto the same person in the crowd, every time._

_And each time, those blue eyes stared right back._

o0o0o

Grizz jumped when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

A swift glance in the direction of the noise confirmed that it was his mother, standing in the doorframe, a fuming mug in her hand.

“Hey,” she half-whispered apologetically.

“Hey.” Grizz willed his heart to stop racing in his chest, out of habit more than anything.

With a hesitant yet warm smile on her lips, his mom stepped inside and made her way to where he sat at his desk. She put the mug of warm milk next to his closed laptop, and he smiled his thanks.

She used to serve him warm milk every night when he was a kid. He couldn’t sleep without it. A bedtime story, a glass of warm milk, and a kiss from his mother had been the routine. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had stopped. He missed those simpler times when needing your mom wasn’t seen as a sign of weakness.

“What are you doing?” His mother asked, curious, as she took in the pile of old photo albums he had piled onto his bed.

One of them was open on his lap, as he browsed through it.

“Just going through old photos.”

She pushed a few albums around on the bed before sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

“Where did you find all these? I haven’t seen them in so long.”

Grizz doubted that was true. They’d been suspiciously dust-free when he’d found them. They had definitely been opened in the past months, more than once if he were to guess. Probably by a grieving mother looking for answers, grasping at old memories in the hope of finding meaning.

He pretended to be fooled by the lie.

“Just in the office.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose that’s where I put them away back then.”

She stretched her neck to look at the glassy photos looking up from the page on Grizz’s lap. She smiled as she recognized the picture from his seventh birthday, with the giant – or at least, it had seemed giant then – Garfield-shaped cake, and the seven lit candles, barely tickled by his clumsy blows.

“That was a special birthday,” she commented amusedly. “You cried when we tried to cut the cake because it meant cutting through Garfield’s face.”

“Of course I did. That was a traumatic design flaw right there.”

Her eyes lit up as she chuckled. “Yes, I suppose we hadn’t really thought this through.”

Every time he made a joke, she looked like she was taken by surprise. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been funny before, but rather that he hadn’t been in a joking mood since coming back. These little sparks of his old personality brought joy to her face, like she was finally getting her son back.

He wasn’t proud of himself for shifting the mood so quickly, but he couldn’t help it. Without the internet in New Ham, he had done a lot of thinking, and there were so many memories which he now saw in a different light. He hated to feel bitter in times like these, but he could only pretend for so long.

“The Garfield cake wasn’t what I initially wanted, though.” His tone was not angry, but it wasn’t playful anymore. His mom felt it, and the smile on her lips dimmed ever so slightly.

“No?” she asked innocently.

“No.” He lowered his eyes, suddenly shy, yet unwilling to stop. “I wanted a Minnie Mouse cake, but you thought that was too girly.”

His fingers were absentmindedly fiddling with the corners of the album’s pages. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, but he could almost feel his mom frown in a mix of perplexity and discomfort.

“I am surprised you even remember. That was so long ago.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

The silence that followed felt heavy. Feeling a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, Grizz dared a swift glance up before staring back at the floorboards again. What he saw on his mother’s face, in those mere seconds, was neither annoyance nor disapproval. What he saw really just looked like… defeat.

When she failed to reply, he decided there would be no better time for him to bring it up.

“I was looking for that picture from tap dancing class. The one with the feather boa. I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

He heard his mother chuckle, and when he looked up, he saw she was smiling again. “That was a cute picture,” she admitted, sounding nostalgic.

“I don’t see it anywhere, though.”

She seemed to think for a moment. “Maybe it’s at grandma’s. I can check some time if you’d like. Why? Why do you need it?”

“I don’t know, I was reminded of it a little while back, I guess I was curious.”

She nodded with a smile. “You were a very joyful kid. Quiet, but when you performed, you’d light up.”

“I guess that stopped being cute after a while.”

He didn’t mean to sound bitter, he really didn’t. But there was just so much he had kept bottled up, thinking it was just a matter of waiting for college. And then New Ham happened, and the future stopped being so clear, and now he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be waiting for anymore.

His mother frowned again. “Why do you say that?”

“You pulled me out of tap dancing and signed me up for football as soon as I grew a little too flamboyant.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it happened,” she replied, on the defensive.

“Well it sure felt like it, mom.”

The words shook his mother up. It took her a few seconds to collect herself enough to respond. “I thought you liked football,” she practically whispered.

Seeing his mom upset should have been incentive enough for him to give it a rest. Old him certainly would have. He supposed months of survival in some parallel universe had a way of changing a person.

He prodded further.

“I did, but that’s not really the point, though, is it? I was good at it and I enjoyed it, but mostly I did my best because I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me anymore.”

“Ashamed?” His mom’s voice was shaky at this point, threatening to break at any moment.

He hated that he was making her sound so feeble, and yet he couldn’t stop here. He had never wanted to say this to her, but at the same time, he had always felt the urge to blurt it out.

“Yeah. Ashamed of your girly son. God forbid he likes arts.”

“Gareth, how… I was never ashamed of you!”

He hated that there were tears in her eyes, and he hated that there were tears in his as well. But there they were.

“Then _why_ , mom? Why did you start freaking out every time I looked at pink clothes at the store? Or when I wanted to dance, or sing, or perform? Why did you always have to make comments about me finding a nice girl someday, when you just knew…” He couldn’t say it.

“… I just…” If his mother hadn’t already been seated, she may have crumbled to the ground under his very eyes. “I just wanted you to be happy.”

“And I can’t be happy if I’m gay?”

He said it. He had never used the word in front of her before. It hit as hard as a slap to the face, and all that was left was a slumping frame of a woman, barely holding up in her seat.

There wasn’t much she _could_ say to make it all better.

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

He still wished she said something else.

o0o0o

_After two days of witnesses being called to the stand and interviewed before an anxious crowd, the jury deliberated, and finally revealed their verdicts._

_Each one dropped like a clattering piece of resounding metal on the floor._

_Shoe – Not Guilty._

_Luke – Not Guilty._

_Lexie – Not Guilty._

_Harry – Guilty._

_Clark – Guilty._

_Jason – Guilty._

_Campbell – Guilty._

_Calmly, Allie stood, thanked the jury, and announced she would require the night to make her decision regarding each sentence. The court was adjourned, and everyone left in a thunderous swarm of movement and chatter. Lexie, Luke, and Shoe were allowed to leave. They did so with dazed looks on their faces, as if they’d been shaken awake from a nightmare, and they couldn’t quite decide if it had been just that – a nightmare – or something much, much more real and terrifying._

_The unlucky ones – Harry, Clark, and Jason – were taken back to their cells for the night. Campbell was absent; still recovering, they were told._

_Grizz watched it all unfold as if in a trance of his own. He had watched over the prisoners all night last night, he couldn’t quite remember when he had last slept. Other temporary guards were taking over for tonight, and as the sight of the departing crowd started blurring and distorting in front of his very eyes, he thought maybe_ he _was the one dreaming after all._

_His dissociation from reality was slow, but it was when he found himself alone in the now deserted streets of New Ham, much later, that he figured something was very wrong with him. He couldn’t breathe, and dark spots were obscuring his vision. Just like that, he was dying. At the age of eighteen, he was having a heart attack. The universe had officially toppled over and the ground under his feet was threatening to crumble and suck him in. He would die here, on the concrete, for him to be found by people in the morning, on their way to hear Allie’s sentencing._

_He didn’t remember making it to Allie’s house, he didn’t remember sending that text. But when the door opened and those blue eyes took in his pitiful, miserable state, he realized the universe was sending him one last lifeline after all._

_“Grizz?” he heard Sam’s voice from a distance, even though the redhead was now right by his side, holding his arm. The contact seemed to stop the ground from shaking under his feet so much._

_It did not, however, stop him from bending over and throwing up all over the grass of Allie’s yard. Sam rubbed his back comfortingly as he emptied his stomach of anything he had ingested in the past twenty-four hours, which was not much, he realized._

_When he finally stopped gagging, he felt Sam’s hand leave his back to stroke the hairs at the nape of his neck. Still bent over, with his hands on his knees, Grizz barely noticed Sam lowering himself to his level, so he could see him._

_“What happened?” Sam asked, with both his voice and his hands. He sounded calm, but his hands signed with the frenzy of worry._

_“I can’t do it, Sam,” Grizz slurred in a whining voice. He felt a little better, but the nausea was still there, and his breathing still threatened to stop working any minute from now. In this moment, it felt as if he had to stay in that exact position, or everything would start crumbling again._

_Sam’s tugging of his sleeve brought him back to reality. “I can’t hear you.”_

_Right. He had to look at Sam. Sam couldn’t hear him. Slowly, reality was slipping back into his brain._

_He straightened up enough for Sam to see his face as he repeated, more clearly, “I can’t do it, Sam.”_

_“Do what?”_

_“Shoot people.”_

_“Wh-” Sam paused, probably realizing he couldn’t quite dismiss Grizz’s fears as irrational. Not today. “How do you know you’ll have to shoot people?”_

_“Didn’t you hear?” Grizz realized the irony of his words, but couldn’t bring himself to correct himself. Finding the words was hard enough as it was. “Four people guilty. There’s got to be at least_ one _that’ll be sentenced to death. Allie’s got to send a message. She can’t be that lenient.”_

_Sam raised his hands and opened his mouth, before giving up with a sigh. There was nothing he could say, really. It was the truth. Someone had to die. It was only a matter of who._

_With resignation, Sam took Grizz’s hand in his own. “Come inside. Everyone is in their rooms, you can rest on the couch.”_

_“No,” Grizz shook his head, and his brain hurt as he thought of all the reasons why this was a bad idea. “Becca…”_

_“Becca is asleep, with Eden. She hasn’t been well, she needs her sleep anyway. Come in.”_

_Grizz should have insisted, said no, but he felt so drained, so weak. He let Sam draw him inside. He let him take off his jacket, his pants, and his socks, while he sat helpless on the couch, in the deserted living room. He let Sam tuck him in on the couch with a fuzzy blanket, and stroke his hair until he slipped into mindless slumber._

o0o0o

The weather was surprisingly cozy, for an evening in late March. Grizz just couldn’t stay inside any longer, so he took advantage of it.

His parents had never been into gardening, but his grandma had shown him how to do it when he was a kid staying over at her house. Now that he was back home, with no school or football to really keep himself occupied, he figured now was as good a time as any to start building a garden in his parents’ backyard. Even if his parents failed to keep it going once he left – because he knew, college or not, that he would have to get out of here one day – it was still something to do right now.

As he had hoped, he lost track of time. He barely heard the footsteps before a shadow towered over his crouching self.

“God, you scared me,” he over-articulated, gripping his heart for emphasis as he turned upward to look at Sam.

The latter stood shyly behind, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. He smiled sheepishly before freeing his hands. _Sorry_ , he signed.

“It’s okay,” Grizz mouthed, scrunching the features of his face as the lowering sun blinded him.

He brushed his hands on his pants as he stood and, confirming with a sweeping glance that no one was watching, left a quick peck on the boy’s lips. “Hi,” he mouthed with a smile.

“Hi,” Sam mouthed back.

“I’ve missed you,” Grizz whispered, signing the words he knew.

Sam smiled back. _Me too,_ he signed.

He meant it. He had missed Sam, having barely seen him in the past weeks. It was a complicated situation for the two of them, to say the least.

They were together, that much was clear. Yet, they hadn't been able to be quite as open as they wished. It wasn’t that someone – or something – was _making_ them keep it a secret. It wasn’t even a secret, really, at this point. But with the Rebellion, the trial, and then their return…. It was never a good time. The more they waited, the harder it became to say anything.

It sucked. Grizz was starting to suffocate in this damn closet. It was well past the time by which he thought he would have been out. He should have been in college by now, making new friends, who would know him as _Grizz, who’s gay, but not that that defines him or anything_. He should have been far, far away from West Ham, reinventing himself and living his best life, rather than living in his parents’ house, sleeping in the same room as he always had, hauntingly surrounded by the same high school and football paraphernalia as always.

But then again, if it hadn’t been for New Ham, there wouldn’t have been Sam. Who came with some of the most daunting baggage he’d ever seen, but whom he still couldn’t see himself without.

In some fucked up ways, Sam was the stability he craved in this fucked up world.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, sitting down on the ground next to where Grizz had been crouching moments ago.

“Gardening,” Grizz replied, joining him on the earthy grass. “Habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Lots of weeds,” Sam noted, pointing at the unruly patches of wildflowers Grizz had barely started working through.

Grizz tilted his head back and raised his left eyebrow, as he often did when he prepared to deliver a smarty-pantsy quote. “A weed is but an unloved flower.”

Sam looked amusedly impressed. “Cicero?”

“Ella Wheeler Wilcox, actually.”

“How do you always know a quote?”

“Okay, I _may_ have looked that one up specifically for you earlier.”

“For me?”

“Wanted to impress you.”

A veil of tender affection covered Sam’s eyes as he smiled. “You always impress me.”

Grizz tried very hard not to blush. “Why thank you.” He fumbled with his tools a little as he said it, which he was pretty sure ruined his attempt at looking detached.

Sam giggled and Grizz couldn’t suppress his own silly smile. His eyes lingered on Sam’s mouth as the redhead bit his lower lip flirtatiously. He had no idea if the other did it knowingly, but either way, it worked mortifyingly well.

With so many windows looking out to the backyard and the risk of his parents glancing out at just the wrong time, he figured kissing Sam a second time was pushing it a little bit. He bit his own lip as he nervously redirected his glance to the unloved flowers by his knees.

“So,” Sam said, look much more in control of his means, “what are you escaping from this time?”

In the last months, Sam had become the person who understood him best. He knew perfectly well that Grizz gardened as a form of escapism, to clear his head from the real world. Each unloved flower was one component of an otherworldly masterpiece, like a piece of a puzzle that could momentarily solve every problem he could possibly have.

“I don’t know,” Grizz shrugged. But he did know. “My parents, I guess. This town.”

 _Aren’t you happy you’re back_ , others would have asked. Sam knew better.

Sam got it.

 _Me too,_ he signed.

“You know,” Grizz admitted, feeling the need to say it to someone, “I should be in college now. I should be living a free, independent, 100% gay life. Not weeding my parents’ backyard.”

Sam smiled understandingly. “I can’t give you a 100% gay life right now,” he said apologetically, “but how about a 100% gay night?”

Grizz frowned. “What, like in a gay club?”

“More like in a bed. With me.”

There was nothing Grizz could do to hide his blush this time. He pretended to focus on pulling out a weed. “Oh,” was his response.

“Becca is taking Eden to her grandparents out of town for the weekend,” Sam explained, and Grizz paid attention to both Sam’s lips and hands as he spoke and signed simultaneously. “She is going with her parents, like a family trip, but her grandparents are very religious. They don’t think they’re ready to accept me in the family. So, I’m not going.”

Grizz nodded his understanding. Becca’s parents were sweet, as far as Grizz could tell, but if her grandparents weren’t into the whole teenage-parent and baby-out-of-wedlock thing, then _wooh_ were they going to have a field trip with the whole baby-daddy-being-gay thing. Or maybe it would sweeten the whole them-living-together-without-being-married thing. Who knew. Grizz had never really understood Catholic people anyway.

“They leave in the morning. You could come over tomorrow night.” Then, as if Grizz needed any more convincing, “the whole house will be empty.”

The basement Becca and Sam used as a living space was separate from the rest of the house, and was basically an apartment, with its own entrance. Which was convenient. But the thought of there being no one to even possibly disturb brought ideas to Grizz’s mind that made him ashamed of his own perverted propensities.

“Okay,” he agreed shyly.

“Okay,” Sam repeated much more confidently. Then, he sighed. “I have to go. Becca will kill me if I leave her alone with Eden all night, since she’ll have her all weekend.”

Grizz nodded, trying to hide his disappointment.

Sam swiftly kissed his cheek as he rose, and Grizz watched him leave, like the sentimental idiot that he was.

o0o0o

_Deafening chatter echoed on the walls of the small church, but the room fell abruptly quiet as soon as Allie stood._

_She wasted no time._

_“Jason Alvarado, Clark Beecher, and Harry Bingham, please stand.”_

_Somber, the three young men stood slowly. Harry barely seemed to register his surroundings and only stood because Kelly elbowed him in the ribs. He was sweating profusely and looked as if he might faint any minute._

_Jason and Clark were rigid in their posture, intently staring at the floorboards._

_“Jason, Clark and Harry, you are sentenced to community service, the details of which will be explained in the next few days. You will be moved to new housing quarters, where you will be under permanent supervision as you carry out your duties. The duration of your sentence will depend on your behavior, which will be formally evaluated every three months.”_

_The silence persisted in the room, as people took in what she said._

_“You may sit.”_

_As the three young men slumped back into their seats, visibly shaken, chatter rose among the crowd. Community service. That had never been done before. Did they have the resources? Was this good?_

_They weren’t given much time to process._

_“Now to Campbell Eliot.”_

_The latter was not called to stand, as he was once again absent._

_“On account of Campbell’s key role in planning and carrying out a coup against me and my council, a mutiny based on lies and a vulgar thirst for power, Campbell Eliot is sentenced to death. He will be executed in the morning, in a private execution in the woods.”_

_On those last words, Allie threw one quick glance in the direction of Grizz, who stood on the sidelines, looking paler than ever._

_“That is all.”_

_Allie knocked her gavel on the table and left._

_The execution happened the following day, as promised. Grizz awaited instructions, which never came. He woke up the following morning, again on Allie’s couch, to an empty living room and a quiet house. It was late in the morning, and when Allie and Will returned around noon, they said nothing of it. It had been done, and Grizz never asked for the details._

_He hated how relieved he felt, because if he didn’t pull the trigger, then someone else did. He couldn’t bring himself to ask._

_Best to forget it all happened._

_As if that was even possible._

o0o0o

Sam’s grip on Grizz's hair tightened as his orgasm hit.

The pull on Grizz’s scalp was not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send violent shivers down his back. He suddenly and messily slipped into his own orgasm, his arms almost giving way under him, threatening crush Sam with the full weight of his quivering body.

“Fuck,” he whispered into Sam’s neck, knowing full well that his expletives were for no one’s benefit but his own.

The fingers in his hair relaxed and traced mindless patterns against his scalp, instantly soothing the muscles of his back and shoulders. When the straining effort of not crushing Sam with his own weight became too much to bear, he slid off the other and let his back hit the thin mattress of the pull-out couch.

Sam and Becca lived together, so as to better parent together. But they obviously weren’t a couple. Their basement-slash-apartment had one bedroom, one bathroom, and an open space that served as a kitchen and living room. The bedroom was where Becca slept, with Eden’s crib. Sam slept on the pull-out couch in the living room area. It was an arrangement that worked for everyone involved. Sam had mentioned once that he thought Becca’s parents had noticed, but that they also didn’t ask about it. And the status quo lived on.

Grizz certainly wouldn’t have felt comfortable having sex with Sam in a bed he shared with Becca, so he wasn’t complaining.

But, goddamn, that mattress was awful. Even in the afterglow of sex, he could feel every spring brazenly dig into the muscles of his back. How Sam managed not to suffer from back pains after all this time was a testament to his youth. Sam was also shorter, which meant he did not share Grizz’s problem of having his feet dangle off the edge of the bed.

In spite of it all, he felt himself get drowsy almost right away. He was ashamed to be one of those men that fell asleep right after sex, but he couldn’t fight it. It was Sam poking him on the shoulder that brought him back to a semi-awake state.

“Hm?” he mumbled, turning his gaze to the redhead, who looked just as tired.

Sam raised his right hand in a sign Grizz thought looked familiar, but which he did not recognize. His thumb, index, and pinkie were raised, while his middle fingers were folded against his palm.

Grizz chuckled. “Have you become a rocker since I’ve last seen you?” he asked, amused.

Sam looked unimpressed. “It means,” he said out loud, in his half-whispering voice, “I love you.”

“Oh,” Grizz replied dumbly. He hadn’t expected _that_.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Sam whispered reassuringly, his eyes getting smaller and smaller as he threatened to fall asleep any minute. He rested his signing hand on Grizz’s shoulder as he settled more comfortably in the covers.

It was Grizz who poked him this time, to make sure he looked.

In a pitiful attempt at imitation, Grizz mirrored the sign he had just seen. He was quite sure he was doing it wrong, but Sam smiled nonetheless.

“Love you too,” Grizz whispered, as Sam fell asleep against him.

It was true. He loved Sam. He couldn’t imagine life without him.

He wondered if that would be his demise.


	7. Clark Beecher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure you've noticed, this story unfolds into two main threads: flashbacks in New Ham, and present-day in West Ham.
> 
> The present-day tension really kicks off here, in my opinion. Enjoy.

“So, Clark,” Chief Holbrook started, as he leaned in to show intent, “I’ve been hearing of certain disagreements between you and Allie Pressman. It seems you two did not get along. Would you care to talk about that?”

Clark scoffed, and muttered the word _disagreements_ mockingly under his breath.

Chief Holbrook attempted a sympathetic smile. “I am not here to get anyone in trouble, Clark. I just want to understand. Can you tell me what happened?”

Clark, whose stance gave off the strongest sulking-teenager vibes the chief had seen in a while, raised his eyes to meet the older man’s.

“Allie is just some…” He paused, visibly struggling to find an adequate yet civil term. “… _girl_ who thinks she’s all that. She acted like she had all the answers, and everyone just blindly followed. She’s a dictator if you ask me.”

Chief Holbrook raised one dubious eyebrow. Allie Pressman may have been uncooperative in her interview, but for years, he had known her as the doe-eyed sweetheart who held doors open for the elderly and cooed at every dog she saw on the street. Her, a dictator?

“Well, now, Clark. That sounds a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Clark’s gaze hardened. “With all due respect, sir, you weren’t there. You don’t know what it was like.”

The chief sighed. “No, I guess I don’t.”

o0o0o

_Following the trial, Clark, Jason, and Harry were relocated to a small, two-bedroom house on the edge of town. They were squeezed into one bedroom, as the other was reserved for guards and storage._

_It became rapidly clear that “community service” basically meant slave work. They were given the worst jobs, and worked the longest hours, for the smallest rations. They were watched at all times and had no privacy anywhere, anytime._

_The only kind of privacy they ever got was at night, before they fell asleep. Mindful of the guard in the next room, they would whisper bad omens for Allie and her council. It was their only outlet. It was all they could do._

_That, and watching Harry slowly withering away._

_The first few days were awful. Clearly in withdrawal, he was sweating, vomiting and hallucinating. Kelly and Gordie came to check on him a few times, but with their limited expertise, there was nothing they could do besides letting him get through it cold turkey. He was young, he was strong. He’d come out the other side eventually._

_Ironically, he did. And when the frantic mood swings finally stopped, so did any manifestation of mood, period. Slowly, he slipped back into apathy. He was unable to get out of bed, and never ate unless Clark and Jason threatened to force it down his throat. He stopped working. His rations were cut. Allie’s crew tried all kinds of threats, but their leverage was limited. What could you do when the person you’re threatening would rather die anyway?_

_Meanwhile, Clark and Jason did as they were told. Everyone in town glared at them when they saw them, as if they hadn’t been all too happy to condemn Allie and Will themselves just a few weeks earlier. This town was filled with fucking hypocrites, but with guards now bearing arms, they bit their tongue and followed instructions._

_Taking care of Harry and bitching against Allie at night became their lifeline._

_Day after day, the same exhausting yet debilitatingly dull routine._

_They only had one hope to keep them going._

_That the bitch and her followers would one day get what they had coming._

o0o0o

“Yo man, how you doing?”

Clark slapped Harry’s shoulder like two old chums reuniting. Harry lazily tore his eyes from the window and stared blankly at his visitor. He said nothing. Then looked away again.

Clark cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat in a nearby chair. “Just wanted to see if you’re better, man.”

Harry, slumped into an armchair he had obviously been forced into by an orderly, had his arms crossed and his eyes firmly directed at the scenery outside. He looked at the world out there, without appearing to even _see_ any of it. He looked empty, and pathetic.

When he finally spoke, it was in a feeble, rusty voice. “I’m sorry Clark, but I don’t really want to see anyone right now.”

Clark brushed it off with a sweeping movement of the hand. “Come on, man, there’s nothing to be ashamed of! After everything we’ve been through, you should know!”

Harry winced, as if in pain. “I’m not ashamed,” he replied with the same worn-out voice. “I just don’t want to see people.”

Clark opened his mouth to offer another dismissive response, and found he lacked the words. He supposed _he_ was the one who had wanted to see someone; talk to someone; someone who got it. Now he felt ridiculous for it.

“Well, I brought you Cheetos,” he offered in a falsely upbeat tone. “I remember you liked those.”

It was one of the few things they’d been able to feed him, when he’d been at his worst. Clark supposed ‘liked’ was not quite accurate. ‘Tolerated’ or ‘deemed edible’ would have fit better.

Harry vaguely nodded his thanks. He seemed unmoved.

“Anyway,” Clark said as he rose. “I guess I'll leave you be. Get better, man.” He slapped Harry’s shoulder again, for good measure, and made his way out.

He looked over his shoulder as he left, and saw Harry was back to staring mindlessly out the window.

o0o0o

“How is he?” Jason asked the next day.

Clark shook his head bleakly. “Bad, man. He’s just like he was before.”

“Damn.”

They had both felt hope, seeing Harry out around town, during their first week back. They had naively thought coming home had been Harry’s cure.

And then, there he was, back to square one.

Jason’s outburst was inevitable. “Fuck, man, that’s fucked up! The bitch’s out there, enjoying quality time with mom and dad, while Harry’s life is basically fucked. That’s messed up!”

Clark shook his head in agreement. “I know. She’s the one who should be in a mental institute.”

“You mean rehab?”

“Whatever!”

Clark took an angry swig of his beer and sighed loudly.

“It’s just fucked up, you know.”

“I know.”

Jason got off the couch to go grab another beer in the fridge. Clark’s parents were out, leaving the latter in charge of his younger brother, who was already sleeping upstairs. In a way, it felt just like the old days, when Clark and the boys would sheepishly drink in secret, thinking they were all that. Except, nowadays, they rarely saw Luke, and they certainly never saw Grizz.

“I saw Shoe today,” Jason spoke loud enough to be heard from the kitchen. “He said the group’s meeting this weekend again. He says the guys there are cool. Maybe we should go.”

Clark shook his head, even though Jason couldn’t see him. “I don’t know, dude. It sounds lame.”

“It’s just talking,” Jason shrugged as he came back into the living room with two freshly opened bottles.

“You’re into talking about your feelings now? What’s next? Painting our nails together?”

Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have to _say_ anything. It’s just getting together with others who get it.”

“I don’t kn- “

Before Clark could finish his thought, a small voice emerged from the stairway. “Clark?”

Both teens, startled, turned to look at the stairs, where a small boy rubbed his sleep-tainted eyes. They swiftly lowered their beers out of the boy’s sight.

“Hey, Jamie, what are you doing up?” Clark asked his brother, sweetly.

The nine-year-old boy shrugged. “I heard you guys talk.”

“Aw, sorry bud,” Clark apologized with a tenderness he reserved for his brother only. “Wanna join us for a bit?”

The boy nodded excitedly, suddenly dropping the tired-child act. Jason frantically hid the bottles under the coffee table.

“What are you guys doing?” the boy asked, now appearing much more awake. A mischievous glint even passed over his eyes.

“Nothing Mom needs to know, you little pirate.”

The young boy chuckled gleefully, pleased to be included in a big boy’s secret. He squeezed his way onto the couch, right in-between Clark and Jason, the only two male figures he tolerated to be this close to. At nine years old, Jamieson was already quite the macho man, which amused Clark to no ends. That boy would break hearts in no time.

Jamieson worshipped the ground Clark walked on, and Clark had to admit it was completely mutual.

“So, Jamie, how’s school?” Jason asked awkwardly. He had never been good with kids.

Jamieson was blind to Jason’s discomfort, and was actually pleased with the attention. “Boring,” he spat out, earning himself a snicker from Jason.

Jamieson’s face gleamed even more. Jason was the boy’s obvious favorite among Clark’s friends. He thought he was _so_ cool, which Clark found absolutely preposterous. Jason surely did not need the ego boost.

“Anyway, bud, what’s it gonna take to get you to bed before Mom and Dad return?”

“Nothing. I’m staying here with you,” Jamieson replied with the assurance of a miniature mafia boss. _Boss baby,_ Clark had dared call him once. It had not gone down well.

“Oh, _are you_? You’re not scared of Mom and Dad?”

“Nope. You’ll get in trouble, not me.”

Jason burst into laughter, and Clark couldn’t help but follow suit. He felt maybe he shouldn’t encourage that rebellious behavior in his brother, but the latter was still at an age where it came off as kind of cute.

“Alright there, little pirate. You can stay here, but as soon as we hear Mom and Dad’s car, you better run upstairs as fast as you can before they see you. Deal?”

“Deal!”

“And you better pretend to be asleep when Mom comes to kiss you.”

“You know I’m a better actor than you.”

Clark huffed in response.

Understanding that their audience wouldn’t leave, but also wouldn’t tell on them, Jason recovered his beer from under the coffee table.

“Can I have some?” Jamie asked innocently.

“Alright, you pirate, don’t push it.”

o0o0o

Clark never liked admitting that Jason was right, but he supposed he hadn’t been entirely wrong this time.

The support group was fine. Just a handful of them who had returned, and needed to talk.

There were a handful of those groups around town, organized by different people, all returners. Some initiatives had been started by well-intentioned adults, but none of those had really worked out. Only the gatherings organized by and for the returners drew anyone. Clark usually avoided them all regardless; the people who attended were not typically people he cared to see. This group was alright, though. There was Shoe, and some of the guys Clark had gone to class with before. People who didn’t judge. People who _got_ it.

There were also Gwen and Madison, but hey, you couldn’t have it all. Win some, lose some.

There were some heavy moments, where people shared how hard it was to reconnect with families that had already mourned them. Some lighter moments, where they made jokes about it all.

Jason shared too, spoke about the hardships of transitioning from prison to this. The others listened silently, carefully, surprised that he was so open about it, but also non-judgmental in their reception of it. He made some heavy implications about Allie’s dictatorial ways, and Clark did not miss the nods that slowly spread among attendees.

Yeah, this group was alright.

As he munched on leftover chips at the snacks table afterward, he quickly noticed a familiar head of hair making its way towards him. He turned to welcome Gwen with an ungenuine smile, and found that she looked about as unimpressed as he was.

“Clark.” She did not bother with ‘hi’ or ‘hello.’

“Gwen.” He imitated her tone, which annoyed her, and pleased him.

“I see you’ve matured well.”

“I see you’re just as annoying.”

Okay, maybe not the best comeback, but honestly, he was tired of caring. He had loved Gwen deeply, had thought her to be _the one_ , and he wasn’t even a romantic guy. She then broke his heart, manipulated him into lying about their relationship, and as if that wasn’t enough, she helped Allie’s traitors overthrow the new council. It was partly Gwen’s fault that he ended up in that kind-of jail.

 _Fuck her_ , he thought.

He was a free man, now. He didn’t owe her shit anymore.

“Look, Clark,” she started anyway, as if he cared, “you’ve been through some shit, I _get it_. We all have. But what you and Jason are doing, it’s not right.”

He scoffed. “What _are_ we even doing?”

“Talking shit about Allie. You’re feeding people's anger, like you did before. It won’t end well.”

“Oh, come on, Gwen. This ain’t New Ham, Allie’s not in charge anymore.”

“ _Exactly._ We’re back home. What happened in New Ham doesn’t matter anymore. Get over it already.”

“Fuck you, Gwen.” It felt good to say it out loud.

“No, fuck _you_ , Clark. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And she stomped off, acting like she’d won the argument.

Fucking nonsense. He was tired of Gwen, and Grizz, and Helena, and everyone else who just gave up on him to go kiss Allie’s ass like she was the fucking queen.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.


	8. Lexie Pemberton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I was feeling restless.
> 
> Here's another one for today.

“You seem nervous, Lexie. Is everything alright?” Chief Holbrook asked with a concerned frown.

Lexie, shoulders tense, rubbed her arms absentmindedly, as if trying to warm herself up. It wasn’t cold.

She shook her head. “Everything’s fine.”

Chief Holbrook inclined his head doubtfully. “You sure?”

Lexie hesitated. “I guess the whole interrogation thing is intimidating.” She chuckled in self-deprecation.

“This is not an interrogation. You’re not under arrest, Lexie. You have nothing to worry about.”

And yet, hearing those words, Lexie tensed up even more.

o0o0o

_Life in New Ham after the trial was odd, to say the least._

_She was free. She was declared Not Guilty. And yet, she didn’t feel free, and she felt very much guilty._

_She knew what Allie was doing. Letting some go, sentencing others. She was sending a message. That she could be lenient, but that her rules were not to be disregarded. She could be kind, but she could also be unforgiving._

_Lexie had been freed on the basis that she had been recruited last, and that refusing to join an already strong mob could have been dangerous for her. You could say she was a victim, in a way._

_The glares she got on the street, however, were clear: she was no victim. She was a traitor. She was not sentenced to community service like some of the others, but she was still watched. She reintegrated her former living quarters, but the atmosphere was no longer the same around her roommates. She worked as many hours as the others, rotated jobs like the others, but always got the worst assignments and the most criticism from her peers. And she certainly couldn’t complain._

_It was lonely._

_She wanted to feel angry at how unjust it all was. But really, she just felt ashamed. She had let herself get wrapped up in Campbell’s lovely promises and veiled threats. She was ashamed that she had let him scare her. Like she had let Clark and Jason scare her, in that cell before._ _She hated that she always got scared. That she was so weak._

_A few days after the trial, Allie’s council called for a meeting with the ‘lucky ones’: Lexie, Luke and Shoe. The rules of their newfound ‘freedom’ were explained. And they sucked._

_There would be weeks of probation – heightened supervision, zero tolerance. No alcohol, no hobbies, and an expectation of stellar behavior at their designated work shifts. Upon successful completion of the probation period, Luke and Shoe would be allowed back into the Guard, but on certain conditions. They would never work alone and they would never be allowed near guns. Lexie would reintegrate normal job rotations and be able to partake in extracurricular activities, but she would never be allowed back into leadership roles. Any gatherings organized by her, or any other participants of the coup, were of course prohibited._

_The new regiment sucked._

_Lexie got used to it nonetheless. What other choice did she have?_

o0o0o

At six years old, Lexie performed in her school’s Christmas play. Her mom and dad came to see her, and afterward, waited for her with a bouquet of the flashiest pink flowers she had ever seen. It was just like the movies, where the nice man waits for the starlet after the show, with flowers, hoping for a kiss. Lexie didn’t mind that it was from her parents rather than from a boy – at six years old, she was still convinced she would one day marry her dad. What she remembered most vividly about that day was the moment her mom half-kneeled in front of her, lovingly rested her hands on Lexie’s cheeks, and told her how proud she was of her.

Years later, she still loved performing. For as long as she could remember, she had always sought out opportunities to be in the spotlight – singing, acting, public speaking. She thrived on the audience’s laughs and smiles, but the slightest piece of criticism absolutely destroyed her. She needed the public to love her work, to love _her_. It was unhealthy – she knew that now.

She thought she had gotten over it. When she decided to run for mayor, she thought she was doing it for the right reasons, for the greater good. She really did think that. Even when Campbell enrolled her in his crazy plans, she still managed to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. Allie was toxic for the town, but Harry was even worse, and if she had to share the power with Harry, then that was still better than letting him and Campbell run the whole show. She was just making sure that their town was safe.

Months later, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

She had time to think, in the aftermath. She lost friends, alongside all of her hobbies. Even when she was technically allowed to partake in extracurriculars again, she just did not have the heart anymore. People looked at her weird, whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear them. She didn’t think joining clubs would help. And so she was alone with her thoughts, a lot of the time.

Being back home felt like a true liberation, at first. To have her mother look at her again with that pure, entirely-biased love and tell her how proud she was, for everything she must have been through… it meant the world to Lexie. Once again, she was a beloved daughter with no worries beyond having to decide what she would like to eat for dinner that day. It was all back to the way things were before.

Except for the nights. The nights were tough.

At night, when everyone else was asleep, and the house was quiet, she had time to think again. And that was never good.

If only she could be like Clark and Jason, and focus on the people she hated. Hell, if she could spend her reflection hours fuming about Allie, Will, Campbell, or even Clark and Jason themselves, she could probably sleep much better at night. Instead, she thought about everything she had done wrong, and everything she could still do wrong, even here at home. She thought about how different everything was. How different _she_ was.

She was terrified of her own self.

o0o0o

Harry’s home was just as immense as she remembered it.

Not that she had ever been given the opportunity of forgetting. The Mayor’s house had always been this gigantic monster of a home lurking on the outskirts of town, visible from almost anywhere, thanks to West Ham’s hilly landscape. An ironic reminder of the major divide in town. The Bingham family was up there, the rest of them were down here.

Lexie had never set foot inside. Never had a reason to. Harry and she had never been friends in school. Not even during those months in New Ham, when his house had been crowded with nearly twenty people; not even then had she had to go in.

Today was a first.

It was Daniela, Harry’s eleven-year-old sister, who answered when she knocked. Lexie had half-expected to be greeted by a servant. She felt silly. Evidently, her _Gossip Girl_ and _Dynasty_ addictions had skewed her understanding of what it meant to be rich in the real world.

“Hi there,” she told the young girl expectantly standing in the doorway. “I’m Lexie.”

“Okay.” Daniela responded neutrally. While her brother was – or, well, had been – all charm and boastful confidence, his sister was quiet and perpetually unimpressed. It seemed unclear whether she understood who or what Lexie was here for, until she added, “He’s upstairs.”

She then turned away and left the door open for Lexie to come in and find her own way. Lexie supposed the rudeness was on-brand with her expectations of a rich kid after all.

The stairs were ridiculously wide and regal. She felt like Belle visiting the Beast’s castle for the first time. She wondered how she would even find Harry’s room without guidance, until she passed a door that was half-closed; a quick glance inside told her she had found it.

“Hello, Señor Escobar. I heard you had a rough last couple of weeks.”

She got no smile in response. She hadn’t expected one.

Harry was sprawled onto his bed, unsurprisingly. He had gotten out of rehab two days earlier, and it didn’t look like he had showered since. He looked exhausted. Yet, his face and eyes looked more alive than they had at his lowest points in New Ham. He seemed a little better, all things considered. He seemed _present_ , at the very least.

“Hey Lexie,” was all she got. He spoke as if every word cost him great energy, but he made eye contact, which was encouraging. “Didn’t have to come all the way here.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause I’m just so busy with school and work and… oh wait. All of us are wasting away at home.”

“Hm, still.”

She raised the plastic bag that she carried in her hand, to bring attention to it. “I brought you soup. Don’t get too worked up, I didn’t make it. But my mom’s chicken noodle soup has gotten me through some of the worst colds I’ve had.”

Neither of them thought necessary to point out that Harry did not suffer from the common cold.

Lexie put the bag down on the first readily available surface, his bedside table. Then she dragged the nearest wheelie chair away from his desk and took a seat closer to the bed.

“How have you been?” she asked, more seriously this time.

He shrugged from his lying position. “Fine, I guess.”

“You breezed through rehab, I hear.”

“There wasn’t much rehab to do. I quit cold turkey months ago.”

Lexie was aware. She hadn’t been there to see it, but she’d heard about it. Mostly by Gwen, one of the few individuals that still talked to her after everything. In the weeks after the trial, Gwen helped out with Guard duties. Her answers to Lexie's questions were always brief, but it was enough for her to understand that Harry was having a rough time.

She visited him a few times, later, when he was already deep into his depressive episode and refusing to work. The guard on duty always insisted on being in the room with them, but could never find a reason to formally forbid any contact between the two. It wasn't like Harry was in a state to stage another revolution anyway. Their conversations were one-sided, but Harry patiently tolerated her presence every time. Maybe because he didn't have the energy to kick her out. Or maybe because, deep down, he knew she needed the company as much as he did.

“Well, at least you’re back home again,” she said in a silly uplifting tone.

“Hm, yeah.”

Of course, it didn’t seem like he felt particularly elated. She wanted to ask what was wrong with him for trying to get his hands on any of that shit again. In reality, though, she knew. He had wanted to feel alive again. She was pretty sure she could understand that.

She figured his moods – or lack thereof – were the last thing he wanted to talk about, so she changed the subject.

“Well, I’m fine too, thanks for asking. I’ve been trying to keep busy. I had the idea of maybe starting an improv club again. I used to enjoy that.”

That managed to draw a scoff out of Harry, which was something. “I hear last time didn’t go down too well.”

“Well, I’ll try to stay away from political satire this time.”

“Can you even _do_ non-political?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m bored and I need a project, or I’ll go mad.”

Harry sighed. “I think we’ve all gone mad.”

Well if that wasn’t the goddamn truth. Lexie digested the comment for a few passing seconds, before reining the conversation back toward lighter paths. “Any ideas of safe prompts?” she asked jokingly.

Harry seemed to actually think for a moment, even frowning as he did so. “Disney princesses?”

“Oh, believe me, you do _not_ want to get me started on gender roles!”

“Still better than accusing political figures who are _literally in the room_ of being dictators.” Harry hadn't been there that day, but of course he knew about it.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The conversation died down again, and this time, Lexie didn’t know how to salvage it. Maybe she didn’t want to anyway. Maybe she was tired of pretending, too.

“You know, I think you’re right,” she eventually said, sighing. “About going mad. I think I went a little mad myself, and I can’t help but wonder if it was always there. If I was always this crazy, and if I just needed an opportunity for it to come out.”

“Maybe we’re all bad people pretending we’re good.”

Now, it was Lexie who sighed dejectedly. “Maybe. We all make bad choices, I suppose.”

“Maybe there’s no such thing as bad choices. Maybe there’s no right or wrong. Just silly humans trying to uphold some made-up system of rules, just to make themselves believe they can be good.”

“Well, ok there, Socrates,” Lexie joked, calling up the only name she remembered from philosophy class. “I don’t know what they gave you in rehab, but I guess it’s working.”

“I guess I’ve had too much time to think.”

Lexie sank into her chair.

“Haven’t we all.”


	9. Kelly Aldrich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now shit goes down in the flashbacks too.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Well, Kelly, I have to say. I’ve been looking forward to our chat.”

Kelly frowned dubiously. “Why is that?”

Chief Holbrook smiled genuinely. “I’ve heard incredible tales of your medical feats. Inserting IV’s, delivering a baby. It’s quite impressive, for someone your age.”

“Thank you, sir,” the girl replied modestly.

“Now, if I could ask you a few questions about what happened out there...”

Immediately, a wall erected itself between the chief and the girl sitting on the couch in front of him. Just like it had with so many youths he had interviewed these past weeks.

“There really isn’t much to say, sir.”

“Well, can you let me be the judge of that?”

She nodded stoically.

With this, the chief knew he wouldn’t get much from the conversation.

o0o0o

_“Allie,” Kelly spoke softly but gravely, slowly articulating every syllable. “What happened?”_

_The clinic’s artificial lighting gave Allie’s solemn expression an even more sinister look. “I can’t tell you,” she answered stoically, which wasn’t surprising in itself._

_Kelly hadn’t expected forthcoming explanations, after getting dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and brought here. In light of recent events, a healthy dose of secrecy seemed reasonable._ _This, however, was not reasonable in any shape or form._

_“Allie…”_

_Her voice sounded like a warning, but Allie did not budge._

_“Just trust me.”_

_“Allie.”_

_“Look, I am sorry for even dragging you into this, but we need your help keeping the body safe. Just until the trial.”_

_Kelly looked down. The body was carefully sprawled on the hospital bed, and it was so unlike anything she had ever seen._

_It wasn’t the first time she saw a corpse, but she had never seen one up close like this. The pale, rubbery skin. The partially closed eyelids, with hints of khaki green irises peeking through the folds. The bloody clothes that still clung to the unmoving torso. It stained the pale hospital sheets, even though most of the blood had dried up before getting here._

_There it was. Campbell Eliot’s dead body. How surreal. After everything that had happened in the last twelve hours or so, Kelly wondered if she even had to ability to be shocked anymore._

_“How are you going to tell people?” she asked, accepting that the circumstances of death would not be disclosed to her. She thought she could infer some details anyway._

_“I won’t,” was all Allie offered._

_Kelly looked up in disbelief. “Allie. You can’t just hide this.”_

_“You don’t understand. We have to.”_

_“Someone_ killed _him, Allie!”_

_The freshly-reinstated Mayor of New Ham remained silent, as she defyingly held Kelly’s appalled gaze. It lasted a solid minute, before she finally replied curtly, “I am aware.”_

_Kelly couldn’t help it. “Did you do it?”_

_The conflict in Allie’s eyes was reined in, and yet still visible to Kelly’s trained eye. The last few months had done a lot towards teaching Allie composure and strength in the face of harsh decisions. But she was still a teenage girl, in the end._

_“It doesn’t matter who did it. He deserved it.”_

_Kelly scoffed. “I’m not arguing with that, but without a trial? Really? Dewey’s execution was a tough call, but you had a legitimate trial to back your decision. Now? This? You – or whoever did this – executed Campbell without a fair trial. That’s not going to fly.”_

_“He’s a psychopath and a known abuser.”_

_“Yes, I agree with you there, and lots of women will agree with you too. But not everyone will. And at this time, you need to worry about those who won’t. Jesus, Allie, you were in a cell just_ hours _ago. The government of this town has just been overturned for the second time in weeks, and if you give those people the slightest reason to pounce and take it back from you, they will. And I don’t want to think about what will happen then. I don’t think we can handle another revolution.”_

_“They don’t need to know when he died.”_

_Kelly hesitated before asking, “What do you mean?”_

_“There will be a trial. We’ll say he’s been injured, and is being treated for his wounds in a secure location.”_

_“And by secure location, you mean here, I suppose?”_

_“The door locks. No one has to know.”_

_It was true that they never used this room in the clinic. It was one of the only private rooms, which had been used by doctors for emergency procedures when a patient’s state had been too critical for transfer to an urban hospital. It hadn’t been of much use since their arrival to New Ham._

_Kelly wasn’t sure how Allie had even brought the body here, before going to get her. Clearly, other people were involved. Kelly was no longer certain she wanted to know who._

_“Allie, that’s a matter of days. What about the smell?”_

_“That’s why we need you. We don’t have a morgue around here, but I’m hoping you’ll find ways to slow down the decomposition. He will get sentenced to death, we’ll make it seem like we executed him discretely in the woods. Nobody will have to see the body.”_

_“And what if the jury finds him Not Guilty? What then?”_

_Allie exhaled slowly, and in that moment, Kelly saw none of the fear she had seen earlier, none of the human uncertainty._

_All she saw was firm decisiveness._

_“That just can’t happen.”_

o0o0o

The mug was warm when Kelly delicately handed it to Becca.

The weather was nice out, as spring rolled out into the strange lives of West Ham residents.

Eden was sleeping inside, under Sam’s supervision, and the girls had set camp in the backyard for the afternoon, with lawn chairs surreptitiously stolen from the front porch of the house. Becca’s parents were at work anyway.

Nearly empty bags of candy lay on the grass at their feet, and with warm cups of tea in their hands, the moment felt almost perfect.

“I thought I’d be used to it by now,” Becca broke the comfortable silence abruptly. “Everyone continuing on with their normal lives, while we stay here at home, purpose-less. I guess it _did_ feel normal for a while. Being with our families, in our homes, that felt normal. For a while.”

Eventually, the veil of pretend normality had lifted. Nothing was the same. No one was the same. Weeks later – nearly months, really – they were still just as unblended to the fabric of this society that had once been theirs. Like oil in water, they were _in it_ , yet consistently failing to mix with its other particles. They floated around as the days passed by, waiting for a return to normalcy that would never come.

Kelly understood what she meant.

“Gordie and I are talking about college. Medical school,” Kelly said, trying to lighten the mood.

Becca smiled as she appraised the landscape she already knew by heart. “Wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

“Of course,” Kelly added with a more irritated note to her words, “that’s if the town finally figures out what happens with our high school diplomas.” They technically never got them, having disappeared two weeks before graduation. “This is freaking limbo.”

“At least you were a senior,” Becca mused cynically. “I’m sure they won’t make you go back to school because of 2 stupid weeks.”

Juniors like Becca, Sam and Allie were even deeper into limbo, wondering if they would be called to return to school next September. Whether they were told to retake their junior year or skip to senior year, neither prospect looked particularly inviting. Going to class every day, with the new batch of 16- or 17-year-olds who hadn’t been held back, who had no idea what they’d been through, and who would stare, whisper, wonder, extrapolate. Becca had shivers just thinking about it.

As if she could read her mind, Kelly gave her reassurances. “I’m sure they won’t make you go back to ‘normal’ school. Maybe they’ll make us all get our GED or something.”

Becca shook her head with a despondent smile. “I don’t think it matters anyway. With the baby.”

Kelly scoffed. “Oh _come on_ , Becca. You’re a genius. You can do anything you set your mind to it. There’s no way a baby is stopping you from going to school. Unless you let it.”

Becca’s smile persisted in its _you-don’t-get-it_ attitude. “I don’t know if I want that. Maybe I just want to raise my family in peace.”

Kelly rejected that answer immediately. “And what? Let Sam go to school while you stay home with Eden? It’s not the freaking 60s, Becca. You don’t have to play housewife.”

“It’s not that.” Becca’s voice faded as she lowered her head to the mug in her hands, now lukewarm.

“Then what?”

Becca sighed. “I know you won’t understand, but I just… I fear it’s unfair on Sam, sometimes.”

Kelly’s reaction would not have been any different if Becca had told her she saw flying toads at night, sometimes. “Oh my _god,_ Becca! He’s the dad, he’s got as much responsibility as you do! How can you let yourself think that?”

Becca fiddled with her mug. Her voice was barely loud enough for Kelly to hear it. “I don’t know.”

It sounded like she knew, but didn’t wish to say. Kelly chose not to insist.

She knew, as many other people did, that Becca and Sam were not an actual couple. Sam was gay, and Becca had never shown signs of romantic interest in him anyway. They were raising a child together, but weren’t actually _together_ -together. It wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something Becca talked about. Kelly figured it wasn’t her place to pry.

The moment was interrupted when Grizz appeared from around the house, wearing his varsity jacket, out of habit more than anything else at this point. He seemed to be checking for signs that people were home, until he spotted the girls on their lawn chairs.

“He’s inside,” was all Becca told him, with a soft smile in lieu of greeting.

Grizz nodded awkwardly and went inside. Kelly watched him go with a frown.

“Weird friendship, these two,” she mused.

When Becca did not reply, Kelly shrugged and sipped on her tea.

Who knew how much longer they’d get to enjoy lazy afternoons like these anyway?

o0o0o

“Major types of cancer?”

“Carcinoma, sarcoma, melanoma, lymphoma, and leukemia.”

“True or false: cancer is always genetic.”

“False.”

“True or false: heavy drinking can enhance your risks of having cancer.”

“True.”

“True or false: artificial sweeteners can cause cancer.”

“Ok, are you just reading out a WebMD quiz right now?”

“Maybe.”

Kelly threw her eraser at Gordie, who protected his face with his arms. He giggled shamelessly, which was frustratingly infectious. Kelly couldn’t help but smile as she rolled her eyes.

“What?” Gordie asked defensively. “It’s much easier to study for this with the internet!”

“Yeah. It’s also easier to find all kinds of over-simplified information, when it’s not plain wrong.”

“I see your argument about the unreliable nature of the interwebs’ information, and I raise you this counterargument: the library’s medical books are very, very outdated.”

“Touché.”

It was true. Ever since library search cards had been rendered obsolete by online catalogs, its science section had also stopped being updated quite so meticulously. As if, with the advent of technology, no one studied science books anymore. Kelly supposed that was true for anyone who hadn’t spent eight months in a parallel universe where the internet had evaporated alongside family and friends. She had gotten used to the dusty volumes wrapped in monotone protective covers. Their language had even started sounding less jargon-y after a while.

“Well, look,” Gordie started with the serious tone he always used when he absolutely was not being serious, “if you’re unhappy with my online quizzes, I suggest we go look for more up-to-date-yet-still-reliably-published material in a better library.”

Kelly was frowning, waiting for the joke or punchline. Getting none, she took the bait. “Like where?”

“Like at Yale.”

Kelly snorted. “Right.”

Gordie frowned in return, and Kelly realized he hadn’t been joking after all.

“What?" he defended his case, "I checked online, and their library is open to the public. I am not sure we can actually check the books out, but we can go early and browse onsite.”

“It’s in New Haven, Gordie.”

“So what? Ever heard of buses?”

“You want to go spend the day at Yale?” Kelly still looked doubtful. It sounded crazy.

But then again, did anything sound crazy anymore? They had delivered a baby in a world without doctors. Saved people from poisoning. Overturned a freaking political coup. What was a day trip to Yale compared to all of this?

“Yes.” Gordie’s tone was matter-of-fact and expectant. “I want to go spend a day at Yale.”

Kelly hesitated. She had grown used to the weirdly comfortable status quo of their boring routine. She grasped at straws for an excuse, and found none.

“Like, when?”

“Oh, I don’t know, let me check my agenda.” Gordie pulled out his phone with what was now a definitely caricatural expression of fake seriousness. “Well, can you believe this? I am actually all open, all day every day. What a coincidence!”

Kelly sighed. “You’re so annoying.”

“But you love me for it, right?”

o0o0o

Kelly didn’t think she had ever stood in a room this big. Or this sumptuous.

The ceiling rose as high as five or six stories, and seemingly endless rows of books were visible through illuminated walls of glass. Like a grand glass tower within the confines of an even more gigantic wooden palace.

Was this the real world? Was this what she had been missing out on all these years in West Ham? All this time she had thought West Ham was all she needed, and now she realized she had known absolutely nothing of what the outside world had to offer. Or of what she needed, for that matter.

“Can you imagine,” Gordie uttered, looking just as awestruck next to her, “having enough money to study here?”

Kelly could. She had dated Harry for years, after all. Kelly’s own parents were certainly nowhere near as well-off as Harry’s, but she had never had to worry about her options. Not the way Gordie seemed to, as he appraised the ridiculously regal design of Yale’s library. It made Kelly feel guilty. For how silly her problems really were in comparison, and for how much she had taken for granted before.

“Come on, let’s go find that medical section,” she eventually said, snapping Gordie out of his abject reverie.

It was late morning by this point. They had a handful of hours to spare, before they had to start making their way back to West Ham. They had to use them well. The boy nodded and followed her towards the otherworldly elevators.

Thankfully, Gordie, being the nerd that he was, had done his research and already knew where to go. In no time, they were precariously carrying an exaggerated load of much-less-dusty textbooks and manuals to a table in a quieter corner. They had snacks and water bottles in their backpacks – which they weren’t sure was allowed in here, but they could be discrete – so they were good to stay here for a while.

They had a system in place. They each took a book and went through it, taking notes so that they could later teach the other about what they had learned.

It took three hours of mostly silent reading and studying before Gordie sighed loudly, throwing his head back, and declared he needed a break. He was getting cross-eyed, and Kelly agreed that her sugar levels were getting manifestly low. She readily accepted the candy bar Gordie surreptitiously threw her way.

“How’s the reading going?” Gordie asked in reasonably hushed tones, while much less reasonably munching on smarties.

“I think the point of a break is that we shouldn’t talk about what we are taking a break _from._ ”

“Fair point. How’s your family then?”

“They’re… fine.”

“Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“You paused.”

“And? My brain is tired.”

“Yeah. But that wasn’t a tired pause. That was more of a daunting secretive pause.”

Kelly lowered her eyes to the empty Kit Kat wrapper in her hands. _Have a break, have a Kit Kat,_ it derisively read. Well screw the break, she now felt the irrepressible need to start reading again.

She was tired of running away, though.

“My dad cheated on my mom.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with the Kit Kat wrapper, focusing on the crinkling sound as a way to ground herself in an increasingly shaking world. Or maybe it was just her who was shaking.

Gordie’s smarties were now left unattended on the table, all but forgotten about. “How did you know?”

“I found out in New Ham. I found a lipstick in his coat pocket, and I matched it to a pocket watch Harry had found in his mom’s stuff. We found the messages they sent each other.”

“Woah, with Harry’s mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Kelly, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s just… I found out a pretty long time ago. I guess I had time to kind of process it, or at least somewhat forget about it, while we were in New Ham. But now that I am back home, with him, and my mom, it’s just… weird.”

‘Weird’ was the wrong word, though. It was overwhelming. Exhausting. Debilitatingly confusing and stressful. She wasn’t sure how it made her feel, in reality, but it was… a lot. Just, a lot.

“I guess I don’t know how to deal with it,” she continued, in a now shaky voice. She prayed she wouldn’t start crying in front of Gordie. “I am pretending I don’t know. The only other person who knows is Harry, and he’s just… so out of it. I’m not even sure he remembers, or wants to think about it at all. Will knows too, but since he and Allie… I don’t know, I haven’t really spoken to him since we’ve been back. Everyone has their own shit to deal with, and it’s like, there’s no one I can tell about this. Not my dad, not my mom. It’s too much pressure. It’s… too much.”

Her voice cracked on those last words, and she knew she had to stop. Or she’d make a fool of herself in the expensive library of her dream school. And in front of Gordie, one of her few real friends. She certainly looked like a crazy person right now.

When she looked up to meet his eyes, he was looking right back, with an intensity and sincerity she knew only he could communicate in a mere glance.

He stretched out an arm and grabbed her hand. He squeezed, and it felt comforting.

“You can always talk to me.”

And in that moment, she knew it was true.


	10. Sam Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when I write a Grizzam chapter, I tend to forget there's an actual storyline that should be progressing.
> 
> What, murder? _What_ murder?

Chief Holbrook had so far opted to meet with each kid alone. One-on-one settings seemed more conducive to genuine conversations. Not that it had been particularly successful on that front, but he could at least try to stack the odds in his favor.

In the case of Sam Eliot and Becca Gelb, however, meeting them together made the most sense. The chief knew how to say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ in ASL, but the chat he wanted to have would require more extensive vocabulary. Becca could serve as interpreter.

“Thank you for meeting with me, you two,” he welcomed them, as they sat in the deserted break room of the police station. “And congratulations on the new family.”

“Thank you,” Becca responded politely.

Sam nodded, having read his lips, the chief supposed.

“I am sorry I had to draw you away from your newfound responsibilities. I just had a few questions. I think your side of the story could help us understand everything a little better.”

Both teenagers remained silent, apparently waiting for said questions. Chief Holbrook cleared his throat awkwardly.

“See, one thing I’ve been struggling to wrap my head around is this story about a political coup. I’m trying to understand how it ties into the death of some of your peers. Is there anything you can tell me about that?”

Becca was quick to answer. She sounded calm, composed, yet uncharacteristically irritated. “I am very sorry officer, but as you already know, we’ve had to learn to raise our daughter without the help of adults. We’ve been busy. There’s not much we can tell you about what happened out there.”

The chief nodded understandingly. “And Sam? Anything you would know?”

The boy signed his response, which Becca translated. “We are very sorry, but when this was happening, my best friend was busy giving birth to our baby in a clinic without doctors. Taking care of a baby takes time. I am sure you know.”

The chief nodded again, this time looking rather defeated.

“Yes, I suppose I can imagine.”

o0o0o

_It was ironically bright and sunny out, on the morning of the execution._

_When Sam took out the trash around seven-thirty in the morning, he noticed that Allie and Will were already out. They must have left at the crack of dawn, he thought._

_Later, there would be sightings of them returning with what looked like a body bag, mounted on a sled for easier carry. People in town would talk. About how weird it was, that no members of the Guard were with them. Allie and Will were accompanied by Helena, of all people. But with four out of the five original members of the Guard having recently been on trial, and with “prisoners” on community service to watch, the citizens of New Ham would then suppose it made some inkling of sense, after all. The chattering around town would die down, and life would return to normal in no time._

_As close to normal as it could get, under the circumstances._

_Grizz, however, was not watching the prisoners that morning, contrary to popular belief. When Sam slipped back inside the house after taking out the trash, he saw the tall young man still sprawled on the living room couch, which he had apparently elected as his not-so-temporary sleeping quarters. He had been sleeping over practically every night, and the members of the household had let it slide. He had always been an honorary resident anyway, with his frequent overnight watch duties. Soon, they would tell him to just move in and stop with the back-breaking couch sleepovers already._

_Sam knelt next to the couch and delicately brushed strands of hair out of Grizz’s peaceful face. When he slept, none of the anxiety that now so frequently distorted his features was visible. He looked calm, relaxed. In peace._ _Sam didn’t want to wake him up, but he dared a soft kiss on the young man’s eyebrow. Grizz barely stirred. With a tender smile, Sam stood back up and made his way upstairs._

_The entire house felt peaceful, with everyone’s bedroom doors still closed and no sign of movement anywhere. It felt as if the world was on hold, or just plainly in denial about what was happening in the forest at this very moment._

_Today, his brother was getting killed._ _And he wasn’t sure if it was denial, the inability to grasp what was really happening, or plain, unabashed heartlessness. But he felt fine. Too fine. Too unaffected._ _Maybe a little numb. He was still waiting for the floor to crumble under his feet and for everything to crash. But for now, it all still felt oddly normal._

_As he slipped back into his shared bedroom with Becca, he saw that she was still lying in bed, unmoving. He could tell from the movements of her breathing that she was awake, but pretended not to be. As usual._

_She hadn’t been getting out of bed much, since everything had gone to hell. One moment, they had been basking in the joy of their newly born daughter opening her eyes for the first time. The next, they were embarked on a rebellion to save Allie from an imprisonment they hadn’t even been told about. More people were arrested, put on trial, sentenced. Ever since the start of the trial, Becca had been staying locked up in their bedroom, only getting up to care for Eden._

_Sam had considered post-partum depression, but Kelly and Helena had dismissed the idea. Eden was actually the only thing that brought joy to Becca’s otherwise dim face. Becca wasn’t withdrawn from her baby, but rather extremely drawn to her, sometimes staying up for hours to look over Eden’s sleeping figure, examining her features as if searching for signs of… something. Something to hold onto, maybe._

_Kelly said they should just wait and see. Maybe she would get better with time._

_In the end, she did, albeit slowly. Both Kelly and Helena came over regularly to check up on her. One thing was sure in Sam’s mind: Eden was saving Becca’s life._

_Maybe she was saving Sam’s as well. Because on what should have been the worst day in his life, he drew to his daughter’s side – she_ was _his daughter, at this point – and smiled as he watched her sleep. He was sure normal babies didn’t just sleep through the night effortlessly like this, but Eden did. Their daughter did. She was such a good baby and he couldn’t help the smile creeping on his own lips. He had never thought he could feel so much love towards someone. When he looked at Eden, he knew he would walk through fire to keep her safe. He would never leave her._

_Some movement caught his attention, out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and met Becca’s eyes from across the room. She was lying on the bed, but she was watching him, and Eden._

_She smiled weakly._

_He smiled back._

o0o0o

Sam and Becca knew they would go crazy if they stayed in that basement all the time, with only each other as company.

They had been best friends for as long as they could remember. Becca had learned sign language for him, Sam had done her homework for her. They understood one another, and each other’s company had always been enough. In many cases, more than enough. It had been everything they’d needed.

But now that they had a crying baby with them, in this small living space that they shared 24/7, they knew they needed some “Me Time” in order to stay sane. They didn’t want to start hating each other, so they established rotations early on. Becca would get to go out with girl friends, typically Kelly or Helena, while Sam stayed at home with Eden. Sam got his own nights out in return. There was no schedule in place, they just made sure to keep it even. So far, they still didn’t hate each other, so Sam supposed it was working.

That night, it was Sam’s turn on baby duty. Helena had come to pick Becca up at around six-thirty, a half-hour before Sam was to put the baby to sleep. They weren’t going out clubbing, because of course, there was no such place in West Ham. Only a creepy pub where no one below the age of 45 nor presenting as female ever went. Becca said they went to the park sometimes, or other times to the diner. And sometimes, they went to one of the girls’ houses to chat. It was really just an excuse to get out of the basement and feel like a normal human again. Sam and Becca, they could hardly have a conversation that did not automatically converge towards Eden’s existence anymore. They supposed that’s what it was like to become a parent.

Eden was sleeping in the bedroom, and Sam was sitting on the bed, resting his back against the many pillows Becca somehow needed to sleep. Sam had to stay nearby; without the ability to hear her crying, he at least wanted to be able to _see_ her shifting in her sleep when she did. Plus, he liked to think it was good for her to get used to ambient noise as she slept. So he stayed in the room with her, alternating between watching her sleep through the bars of her crib and reading his book.

He wasn’t progressing fast through said book, and he was merely on page 7 when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He slipped it out slowly and quietly. He made sure he had left his phone on silent – it always was, but since Eden’s arrival, he always feared he’d accidentally reactivate the sound and disturb her. Once he’d made sure the sound was off, he checked the screen. It was a text from his mom.

_Found this while cleaning the house today._

With a picture attachment. He had to unlock the screen to see it. When he did, he felt a rush of adrenaline power through his body, in a way no picture should bring about.

It was a picture of himself, at seven years old. And Campbell, eight. Sitting on the stairs in their house, with Rio the bird on Sam’s finger. Young Sam was beaming, staring at the colorful creature in awe. Young Campbell, visibly sitting too close for comfort – their parents had made them pose for the picture, Sam was pretty sure of it – was looking back at his brother and their bird; he wasn’t smiling, but he did not appear loathing or condescending either, as Sam would have expected. He looked weirdly content, almost somewhat… happy. Uncomfortable, but happy.

That was weeks before the Rio incident that marked the end of their having any pets, ever. Sam was still naively ensconced in his admiration for Rio. And for Campbell.

When Campbell killed that bird, something switched in Sam. He started doubting his brother, distrusting him. Fearing him. At eighteen years old, after over a decade of abuse and silence, of constant fright and unrest – and he supposed the abuse had been happening before as well, but he had been too young to understand – he felt he couldn’t remember a day when he had genuinely loved and admired his big brother, as he felt he should have, rather than feeling scared every time he heard his footsteps in the hall. But as he looked at this picture, he remembered.

He remembered feeling genuinely happy at that moment, entirely unaware of what was to happen next. He remembered loving Campbell. Wanting to earn his approval. Wanting him to love him back.

The tears were running down his cheeks before he could help it. In the snap of a finger, he went from dumbly staring at a picture to crying like a child. Powerfully, uncontrollably. The features of his face scrunched up in what must have looked like pain, and it _was_ pain.

For the first time, it hit.

He had lost an abuser, a bully, a psychopath.

But first and foremost, he had lost a brother.

o0o0o

It was a typical Saturday afternoon. Sam’s parents were visiting, as they did every Saturday. They brunched together and then had tea in the living room. Sam’s bed was put away to serve as a couch again, and the whole place seemed inviting enough, Sam thought.

“You’ve really done something with the place,” Mrs. Eliot complimented.

“Thank you,” Becca replied with a smile.

They knew, however, that the compliment was bittersweet. The Eliots had initially hoped for this Saturday brunch tradition to be held at their home. Sam would also have liked that, seeing as it would have been one more excuse to get out once a week. Plus, he missed his childhood home, sometimes.

But Becca had refused. And she’d been adamant about it. She’d said something about having to make sure his parents took them seriously, to show them that they could hold a home together. Her justification hadn’t felt particularly candid, but when he insisted, he earned himself an inexplicable outburst of rage. He then decided that her hormones were not worth arguing with.

His parents were kind about it, but he sensed they were still vexed. Especially since Becca never came to Church with them on Sundays. Sometimes, he worried that Becca, whom his parents had always adored, was slowly slipping out of their favor.

They had all been through a lot. He hoped his parents understood.

“So, Becca, how are your parents?” Mrs. Eliot asked sweetly, signing as she spoke, so Sam could follow.

Becca smiled genuinely. “They’re well. They’ve been busy with work lately, but they think it’s finally quieting down. They’re hoping to see more of Eden.”

“Well, that I can understand!” Mrs. Eliot added with a keen chuckle.

What went unsaid, was that Becca’s parents saw more of Eden than the Eliots did. And that was yet more reason for them to feel irritated.

“Doug and I were thinking we should organize something with your parents, one weekend. A dinner, maybe. All together.”

That, and the fact that Eden bore Becca’s name. Eden Gelb, not Eden Eliot.

“I think they would really love that, Lynnette.”

Or how Sam and Becca had declined the Eliots’ offer to move into their home, and instead gone with the Gelbs’ basement. Sure, the Gelb basement offered more freedom and autonomy, but as the little things accumulated, Sam worried.

“So then it’s settled! I’ll call your mom and arrange something.”

“She’ll be very happy.”

It was getting to a point where Sam felt dread upon seeing the approach of Saturday brunch. He always worried that their veiled contempt would suddenly implode, and there would be no repairing possible.

Busy worrying, Sam almost missed his mom’s continued dialogue.

“I know this may not be any of our business, and I’m sorry for prying, but Doug and I were talking, the other day –“

“Lynnette…” Doug warned, and his frown was anything but a good omen. Lynnette ignored him.

“ – and we were just curious. We just wondered if you guys had talked about getting married.”

She was smiling, and she looked sincerely hopeful. So much so, that Becca raised her eyebrows in surprise, speechless. With a side glance at Sam, it fell to him to respond.

 _Mom,_ he signed slowly, frowning. _You know I’m gay._

Now it was Lynnette’s turn to frown, as she tilted her head in a misplaced show of confusion. Next to her, Doug shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Lynnette then cast a worried glance in Becca’s direction, as if deeming this statement inappropriate in her presence. As if Becca didn’t already know.

 _I thought we were past that, honey,_ she signed with that same concerned expression _._

Sam scoffed, but he could find nothing to say. This time, he was the speechless one.

Becca came to the rescue with the most polite and well-mannered tone she could muster. “I am sorry if we gave you the wrong impression, Lynnette. But Sam and I are not together. We are raising Eden as her parents, and Sam will always be my most cherished friend, but we will never be in love with each other that way. We are taking responsibility as parents, and we are making the most of the situation.” She reached to squeeze Sam’s hand as she did so. She looked at him as she finished her thought, so he could read her lips. “But we don’t see the point of getting married just to keep appearances. We are not together.”

Doug appeared apologetic, but he looked to his wife before risking to say anything.

Lynnette looked plain angry as she answered. “I am sorry if our question was untoward, Becca. I hope you understand we are only looking out for our son.”

Becca’s eyebrow twitched in confusion. “Of course.”

“We just want to make sure he isn’t being taken advantage of.”

Lynnette had stopped signing, and Sam looked to Becca for help being included back into the conversation.

Becca provided no such help. He would learn of the following exchange later, when Becca would explain, with a clearer mind.

With an icy calm, the girl asked, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“We worry that you’re keeping a hold on the situation. Eden bears your name, she lives in your house. If you were to decide to kick Sam out of her life…”

“I would never do that!” Becca was shocked, outraged. She understood the irritation of her not going to Church, the irritation of Sam and her not visiting the Eliot household, but that they could imply such a thing… “How can you even…”

“We’re just looking out for our son.”

 _Our only son_ , seemed to be the implication, and Becca was shaken by it.

She had to take a deep breath before she could respond. She could feel Sam’s pleading eyes on her, begging her to tell him what was going on, but this was her battle now.

“Sam is the only person keeping me sane, the only person with whom I could see myself doing this. I couldn’t do it without him. And even if I _were_ the horrible witch you seem to think I am, Sam’s name is on the birth certificate. He is officially Eden’s father.”

“Well, that’s certainly convenient if you want him to pay alimony later on.”

Becca stood up abruptly.

“I think you should leave.”

“Becca…” Doug pleaded. In his eyes, Becca could see a thousand apologies, and a plea to forgive his wife, to understand that she was just worried.

Becca almost felt regret. She wavered in her decisiveness for a second. But in the end, she couldn’t just shrug it off. Her blood was boiling with the injustice of the accusations. That they could think such horrible things… That they could think she would hurt Sam like this…

“Leave,” she repeated curtly, and coldly waited for the Eliots to stand, grab their coats, and exit without a word.

In the heavy silence that followed their departure, she stood in place, frozen. She almost jumped when she felt Sam’s hand softly rest on her shoulder. She looked at him and saw the concern.

 _Are you okay?_ He asked.

She burst out crying.

o0o0o

Sam knew by heart how many trophies stood on each shelf in Grizz’s bedroom. Yet, every time, he counted them. Just in case it had changed. Just in case the world was changing behind his back, when he wasn’t looking, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Grizz was tracing mindless, lazy patterns on his chest with the tips of his fingers, occasionally kissing his temple, his hair, his cheek. How a tall gangly giant of a football jock could be so gentle still boggled Sam’s mind. He, the nerdy redhead kid, had to be the initiator of anything remotely sexual between the two of them, which made him feel like the worst teenage horndog. But he knew that Grizz was just being overzealous, making sure he never overstepped boundaries.

Sam regularly wondered if he truly deserved him.

It was Becca’s turn to watch Eden tonight. She had been quiet lately, since the whole Saturday brunch debacle. Neither of them had spoken to Sam’s parents since. Sam was outraged that his parents could even think that of Becca. _Becca._ She promised that she was fine, that she understood. She even apologized for having snapped at his mom. _Apologized._ As if she was the one who had anything to feel sorry about.

He felt bad, leaving her in that state of mind. He had only done so because she insisted that it was good for her, to spend some quality time with their daughter.

And with Grizz delicately nibbling his ear, he thought he could forget it all, just for one night.

“When are your parents coming back?” Sam voiced his question, seeing as Grizz wasn’t looking at him.

The taller boy raised his head back into Sam’s view to answer. “I don’t know. Late.”

Cutting short any further attempts at conversation, Grizz kissed him. Sam ran his fingers through the other boy’s silky hair, and gripped the strands at the base of his neck, knowing full well the effect it had on the other boy. He felt the vibrations of his moan on his lips, and he smiled.

“Stop that, I’m not a freaking toy.”

Grizz’s tone was playful, even Sam could tell, from the slight tug on the boy’s lips as he lied back down on the mattress next to Sam.

Now that Grizz could see him, Sam went back to signing, only voicing the words he thought the other wouldn’t catch. _How’s the garden coming along?_

Grizz raised both eyebrows, looking unimpressed. “You want to talk about vegetables right now?”

_Apparently, it’s good to talk before sex._

“We’ve already _had_ sex.”

_Are you saying you don’t have it in you for round two?_

Grizz grunted and playfully nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.

 _Idiot._ That word, he knew in ASL, and he signed it. Sam chuckled.

Grizz turned on his side, resting his head on his propped-up hand, and looked at him more seriously. So they _would_ talk after all.

“How’s Eden?”

Sam smiled. _She’s good. She sleeps most of the time. Becca says she hardly ever wakes up at night, but then again, I wouldn’t know._

There was a reason why Eden’s crib was in Becca’s room. Sam would never hear her crying.

 _I think she misses you,_ Sam added playfully.

Grizz huffed his disbelief. “Right.” He had been dropping by more often lately. To visit Sam, but also to help around, when needed. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyway, and Becca seemed to appreciate the help. It takes a village, they said.

That said, he felt certain he hadn’t spent enough time around the baby for her to recognize him at all. The few times he had held her, he had been stiff and uncomfortable, and he was sure that wasn’t good for bonding.

 _It’s true. You’re a natural,_ Sam insisted.

“Whatever you say.”

_Plus, you’re hot when you take care of my baby._

“Ok, now I’m uncomfortable.”

Sam chuckled and rose to kiss him.

It must have been enough talking because the kiss deepened, and Sam’s hands became more adventurous on Grizz’s back, arms, chest, lower back. Grizz let himself get pulled on top, and he slipped back into the comfort of Sam’s warmth. It was so immersive, so taking, that he forgot everything else.

Sam’s hands were on him, and his mind went blank. All he could focus on was the pleasure, and Sam’s breath against his lips. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else.

Not the front door opening downstairs, which he failed to hear. Nor the footsteps up the stairs, which went unnoticed in the midst of his erratic breathing. He was barely aware of his bedroom door opening with an innocent call of his name.

He was dragged back down to Earth by the angry expletive that followed.

“What the fuck is this!”

Even Sam could feel the crash as reality hit.


	11. Allie Pressman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of mentions of underage drinking in this chapter.
> 
> I don't sanction it. But as someone who's worked in high schools... I am also not naive.

“I am glad you agreed to meet again, Allie.”

Allie’s smile was anything but genuine, as she observed him carefully. One would think Chief Holbrook would be doing the analyzing, in this context. Yet there Allie was, appraising him like a worthy opponent.

“I am not sure I had a choice, sir.”

“You always have a choice, Allie.”

“Not always, no.” She sounded neither angry nor berating. Merely resigned. “Not always.”

“Well.” Chief Holbrook was growing increasingly aware of how unequipped he truly was to deal with these kids. Who really weren’t kids anymore, even he had to admit it. “I’m sorry you feel this way.”

There was so much to unpack in those kids’ hazy and irrational accounts. At this point, he felt the pressing urge to give up the operation entirely. They had managed to keep the feds out of this, there was no official investigation going on. They just wanted answers, but even that, the chief was realizing, was asking for a lot.

This was, in a way, his last Hail Mary.

“Is it okay if I ask you some questions?” he asked, as unthreateningly as he could.

A soft smile etched itself on Allie’s lips. “You can try.”

She didn’t even sound cocky, like a daring teenager trying to get on his nerves, just because. No, she merely sounded like someone who had seen to much.

Maybe she was right. Maybe this was pointless.

“You know, Allie, if you don’t want to talk to me, then maybe it’s best if we leave it for today.”

“And what? Try again tomorrow?”

“Only if you’re willing. I am not here to fight with you.”

He looked tired, and she seemed to notice. She uncrossed her arms and straightened up in her seat, leaning in so she could better talk to him.

“If you don’t mind me saying, sir, I think you don’t really want to know what happened.”

Chief Holbrook raised both eyebrows, genuinely surprised by the candidness of her tone. This was the most straightforward he had seen her since the kids’ return. Even if still elusive, she now looked like she was genuinely trying to help, in her own, cryptic way.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve seen you call all of us, one by one, to come here for coffee or a cup of tea, to chat. And yet, I haven’t seen you have a single chat with your own son.”

“Luke and I live in the same house. I don’t need to call him up here to talk to him.”

“I know. But do you? Talk to him, I mean. Because believe me, sir, I know denial. I know it too well. I’ve fallen victim to it many times, and I have paid the price. Wanting to believe that those closest to you bear no relation to the evil in this world, I understand it. And I think you’re not ready to hear the whole truth. I think you’ll never be.”

Chief Holbrook coughed in a mix of surprise and irritation. “Are you trying to imply something about my son, here?”

“I am trying to imply something about all of us, sir. We were all in this together. We all made choices. Good ones, bad ones. We all paid the price for those choices, one way or another. I think what happened out there will never truly be behind us, but what you’re doing is making sure we never close that chapter. And it’s wrong. With all due respect, sir, people need to heal. And move on. So why won’t you let us?”

In the seconds that followed, the girl sitting across from Chief Holbrook was not a girl at all. She was a woman, one who _had_ seen too much, one who _had_ made choices.

One who _had_ paid dearly for them all.

Chief Holbrook sighed. “Go home, Allie. Go home to your family.”

o0o0o

_The first council meeting after the trial was also the first of the year 2020._

_The new council was composed of Allie, Will, Kelly, Grizz, and Helena. A council carefully picked out by Allie herself. They were not elected by the town, but in the current climate, an election was the last thing anyone wanted. The council would be formally announced at tomorrow’s town meeting. There would be a symbolic vote on it. It would, of course, be unanimous._

_The council meeting was short, mainly outlining what would be discussed in the upcoming town meeting. Will would continue to oversee the town’s cafeteria and food supply. He would work closely with Bean, the new leader of the agricultural project. Grizz would be needed in town to oversee security. Kelly would take care of the clinic and health-related projects with Gordie. Helena would focus on the town’s well-being, making sure a variety of extracurricular activities and socializing opportunities were put in place, in addition to regular church service. In times like these, this was especially important._

_As the meeting ended and the members of the council rose to leave, Allie shared a quick glance with Will and Helena, who understood the silent request to stay back._

_Grizz left the room almost immediately, and Allie watched him go with a pinch of regret. He had never wanted to be involved in politics. All he would have hoped for, these days, was to be out on the field, working the land, away from all this nonsense. Allie knew it well. She felt awful for making it impossible for him to do just that. Sadly, she needed Grizz by her side. People still looked up to Grizz, even those who distrusted Allie and Will. They respected him, they listened to him. Allie needed his protection more than ever. She knew he understood, and he would always be there to do his duty. Always there for her, no matter what. That knowledge did not, however, make her feel any less guilty._

_Kelly was slower to leave. She obviously noticed the other three lagging behind, but chose not to ask or pry. She was choosing her battles. This was not one of them. So she left._

_The remaining three shared an eerie silence, standing around the table, looking at each other pointedly._

_“So we are in understanding?” Allie finally asked._

_The other two nodded._

_“None of this ever happened.”_

_More nodding._

This. _One simple word to encompass an entire cover-up operation. Hushed conversations behind closed doors. The corruption of a jury. A fake execution._ _A murder._

_Beyond them three, a mere handful of people knew of anything that had been going on. Kelly knew some, but there was no need for her to know any more. Mickey, who had been on the jury, had been told in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t sway the other jury members towards a very specific outcome, there would be consequences. The poor guy still shook in his boots any time he saw Allie out on the streets._

_The others would never talk._

_It would all get buried and forgotten. As it should._

_“It never happened,” Will confirmed. The others silently agreed._

_That night, Will slept in Allie’s bed, just like before. It was innocent, wholesome, nearly platonic. They just needed the company._

_Of course, nothing between the two of them was purely platonic, but nothing was quite the same either. Not anymore. There were a lot of impossibles and can’ts moving forward. Some clear, some debatable. All of it confusing._

_In the midst of the chaos, they just needed to not feel alone._

_If that were even possible anymore._

o0o0o

It rained. On the day she chose to visit her sister’s grave, it rained. She was pretty sure some higher-up in the clouds thought he was being really funny. What a fucking cliché.

While the memorial still hung in the library, awkward and out of place, four stones had more recently been added at the cemetery, each standing next to one another. Each with a name.

_Emily Warner._

_Cassandra Pressman._

_Greg Dewey._

_Campbell Eliot._

The ground beneath each tombstone was undisturbed. There had been no bodies to bury. Only stones to engrave and symbolically place with the other dead souls of West Ham.

Allie ignored the other three names, only focusing on the one stone she cared about.

_Cassandra Pressman. 2001-2019. Beloved daughter and sister._

Unoriginal. But how were you even supposed to come up with things to write on your deceased daughter’s grave? It didn’t really matter. Cassandra’s corpse wasn’t even here. Not in this cemetery, not in this town, not in this universe. She was somewhere else, in another world that looked like this one but wasn’t. Her body was becoming one with the earth, far away from here, alone.

Allie shivered. She hoped, truly hoped, that souls were freed upon death, that her sister was somewhere else, where she was happy. And not alone.

“Hey sis,” she uttered awkwardly. She had always found it odd, how people in movies talked to their loved ones’ graves, as if they could hear them. This was literally just a stone with nothing underneath. A symbol. But she needed to talk to Cassandra, and this was the best avenue she could find. She hoped that, if she thought of her hard enough, her sister could hear her. Or feel her, maybe.

“I miss you, Cassie. I really do. It’s weird to be home without you.” She felt a tightening in her throat, but the more words came out, the more she had to say. “It’s like, in New Ham, there was so much going on, I could manage not to think of you all the time. I was getting by. Now that I’m here… there’s just so much time. You’re all I can think about. And… it’s hard.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t have to be strong right now. Not here. Not with Cassie.

“It’s hard, because I can see how much Mom and Dad miss you too, and there’s nothing I can do… to help. I hurt just as much as they do, and there’s no reassurance I can give them… I don’t know if you died in pain, I don’t know if you died afraid or alone. I don’t know if it could have been prevented. And now, I don’t know what to do.”

Her damp hair was starting to stick to her forehead, but she kept going. There was no one around, and even if there had been, she didn’t care. She wasn’t the leader anymore; she didn’t have a reputation to uphold.

“I wish you were here. You would have known what to do. You always did. Me, I’m just pretending. Faking it ‘till I make it. I’m not sure I’ve made it. Or ever will.”

She couldn’t pass off her tears as raindrops anymore. She was crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried.

“It would be so much easier if you were here.”

She wasn’t sure that was true. But that was something to hold onto. That her big sister always knew best.

“I am trying to move on, Cassie. I really am. But it’s just that… I don’t know if I am allowed. To be happy. To love. To live normally. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to.”

She paused as she watched the raindrops wash over her sister’s name. The same way they washed over her face, never quite leaving her feeling clean at all.

“Am I allowed, Cassie? Am I allowed to be happy? Because sometimes I feel like it’s my punishment. To forever feel guilty. It’s the price I have to pay.”

The rain reached its peak of aggressivity as they drilled on Allie’s naked head.

“Am I allowed?”

And then, just as abruptly as it had started, the rain stopped.

o0o0o

On the way back, she passed the town’s community center. The lights inside were on, but the curtains were drawn. She knew it was the location of one of those support groups for Returners, as some had gotten to call them. Different groups had been initiated, and she heard it helped.

She couldn’t attend any of them, however. No one would feel comfortable sharing openly with her there. She was too much of an embodiment of New Ham and all of its hardships, regardless of whether they respected her as Mayor or not.

She was glad that it helped people.

That was exactly why she couldn’t go.

She stuffed her hands in her damp pockets and made her way home soberly.

o0o0o

“I mean, fuck them, right?” Will exclaimed, precariously brandishing his beer bottle for emphasis.

Allie wasn’t sure who they were talking about anymore, but she agreed nonetheless. “Sure, yeah. Fuck them.”

Drinking in her parents’ backyard was probably not the smartest thing for them to do at eighteen years old, in a small gossipy town like West Ham, but her parents were out, and Will had just turned eighteen today. He was free to leave the foster system, and this was cause for celebration.

“Where are you going to stay anyway?”

“Anywhere, really.” Will shrugged, as if brushing off the question as irrelevant. “Anywhere that’s untouched by the diabolical foster machine.”

“You can stay here if you want.”

“Oh? Have you asked your parents that? Or are you just forgetting that this is not just your house anymore?”

Allie ignored the instant pinch in her chest. It was irrelevant. “They won’t say no.”

Will sighed, gulping down some beer to avoid answering right away. “I don’t know. You know I feel weird about it.”

“Oh well, then, by all means, stay out on the street if that’s where you feel at ease.”

“Okay, well if you put it that way…”

“It’s only temporary anyway, right?”

“Maybe we should wait to ask your parents, at least until we’re sober.”

Allie’s features scrunched up in derision. “Pssht, why wait?”

“Wouldn’t want them to think I’m corrupting their perfect little daughter.”

“Screw you, I’m turning eighteen next month, you’re not some kind of old-timey elder.”

“Of course, I’m too cute for that.”

“What-ever. You wish.” She wavered in her seat on the porch steps, and took a second to regain her balance. “Plus, we both know we’re not kids anymore.”

It was almost imperceptible, but Will sobered up a little upon hearing those words. “No. No we’re not.”

Allie wasn’t sure if she was abruptly changing the subject, but she was too inebriated to care. She looked at Will more seriously as she mustered up the words. “I went to see Cassandra today.”

“Oh.” Will frowned, working through the muddled confines of his brain to find an appropriate response. “How… was it?”

“Weird. But also not as scary as I thought.”

“Good. That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She fiddled mindlessly with the sticker on her beer bottle for a moment, before she continued.

“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying the other night. About how sometimes you feel New Ham was better for you, in some weird way.”

“Well, I mean, It’s more complicated than that…”

“No, I know. But it’s been on my mind since. At first I thought you were crazy. Or selfish. Or both. Because New Ham was awful. There were good moments, but even Hell has its days, I suppose. People died, people did terrible things. Every day was a mixed bag, like those Harry Potter jelly beans, except 70% was vomit flavor. It mostly sucked. Every day, I hoped we’d find our way back home. I would not for anything in the world want to be back there. But then again… I think I don’t feel like I belong here either. I don’t want to be there, I don’t want to be here. I guess I don’t belong anywhere.”

“You belong with me.”

Allie rolled her eyes emphatically. “You’re gross.”

Will chuckled from his awkward position, lying across the steps. Then, he grew serious again. “I get it. I think I feel the same.”

When she lowered her eyes to look at him, he was staring right back. For a moment, she staggered again, for no other reason that his dark pupils were so absorbing, hypnotizing. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the sensation of a weight being lifted off her shoulders – which was, admittedly, probably due to the alcohol – but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She remembered what it was like to have a crush on him in high school. Back then, she had found it painful and excruciating, but now that she looked back, it seemed like such a carefree, exhilarating time. All the what-ifs and maybes and one-days. She wished she could be this clueless again. She wished she could be young and naïve enough for the unrequited love of her best friend to be the worst thing in her life.

She had hoped for this day, for so long, and now that it was there, and Will loved her back, she couldn’t feel the thrill of it anymore. Not the same kind anyhow.

Still, what she felt as they stared into each other’s eyes, drunk, was not nothing. It was definitely not nothing. She felt comfort. She felt longing and some odd sense of stability. Like the ground no longer threatened to slip from under her feet, so long as those dark pupils held on tight to hers.

It felt a little bit like home.

She kissed him. He kissed back. Somehow, they made their way inside. Up the stairs. Into her room.

She wasn’t sure if they left their beer bottles outside on the porch.

She supposed she’d find out tomorrow.


	12. Luke Holbrook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been up since 8:30AM and let me tell you, this is not a normal occurrence these days. 
> 
> My eyes are burning from staring at a computer screen all day (and mostly for work, ugh), so I hope I didn't miss too many typos in my revisions.

The knock was hesitant, yet clear enough for Luke to hear it over the music from his computer game. He glanced up to see his dad standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hi, son. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Luke paused the game and set the laptop aside on the bed.

Chief Holbrook took it as the unspoken invite he had hoped for. He made his way to the bed and carefully sat on the edge, wincing from the pain in his back. As usual, he played it off as nothing and carried on normally.

“How have you been doing, son? I feel we haven’t had much chance to… talk, since everything.”

Luke attempted a smile, but even the chief could tell it was more of a front. He had seen that exact smile on too many young faces over the last weeks.

Heck, he had used that smile himself too many times in the past. He would have sacrificed anything in this world to keep it from ever appearing on his son’s face.

“I’m alright,” Luke assured him in an almost convincing manner, which told the chief it was much too late already.

Who could be alright after all that chaos he’d been hearing about? In all appearances, Luke seemed fine. Sure, he had seemed confused and exhausted in the beginning, but they had all felt blessed to have him back. The prodigal son, their only son. The answer to their prayers.

Maybe Allie Pressman had been right on that one point. Maybe the chief hadn’t asked Luke any direct questions because he was afraid of the answers. So far as it came from the other children, he could be doubtful, skeptical, pragmatic about it all. But hearing of political coups, murders, violence, and imprisonment from the mouth of his own prized son, a young man with ambition and talent, with a world of opportunities out there for him… he wasn’t sure he could take it.

He was afraid.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

“Look, Luke,” the chief sighed, wringing his fingers in a nervous manner he usually never let transpire. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Luke adopted a worried expression, which the chief could see even from the corner of his eyes. He hated that he was making Luke worry, when really, it was him who should bear the burden of worrying about his child.

What if all he’d been doing so far was failing his own son? The one person he who would do anything for. _Anything._

“Yes, dad?”

Spurred by his son’s kind insistence, the chief cleared his throat to speak. “You know I’ve been meeting with your peers lately.” Luke nodded. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it all. And I can’t say I’ve been very successful. At making sense of it, I mean. It’s chaotic, it’s… dark. It’s worrying. It concerns me as a policeman, but as a father… it scares me. A lot. To think about what you must have gone through. And… well. I haven’t asked you anything because I guess I wanted to wait for you to be ready for that. Which, maybe that makes me a hypocrite. But I don’t want to hasten you, and I guess I just want you to know that I’m here, if you ever need to talk.”

Luke nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. The chief gritted his teeth, realizing he was going around in circles and not making much sense himself.

“Thanks dad,” was all Luke offered, with a light smile.

The chief sighed. If he was to wait for his son to be ready, then today was not the day.

He could wait.

o0o0o

_The worst part was the looks._

_He was pardoned, found innocent by the jury. He had reintegrated society as a normal citizen, albeit with some restrictions. His life should have gone back to normal. But it didn’t, of course. The looks he got around town were heavy, lingering, judgemental. As if he were the infectious evil to blame for what had happened. He had it much easier than his peers in community service, but going through life under the weight of those pervasive looks was no walk in the park either._

_That was bullshit, of course. The looks weren’t the worst part at all. In truth, the worst part was losing Helena._

_Upon his release, he was immediately relocated to new living quarters, in a room shared with Shoe and two other guys he never really spoke to. He rejoined the Guard, but was given more menial tasks. He was hardly ever at the Pressman house anymore – that was now Grizz’s almost exclusive responsibility. And he practically never saw Helena outside of town meetings or the occasional church service he attended purely to see her – which visibly irritated her, although she said nothing of it, so long as he did not try approaching her._

_Yeah, that was the worst part. Realizing he had messed up the only good thing in his life for a stupid plan he never cared about in the first place. A plan he only joined because the boys were throwing veiled threats, and he had let himself get scared. In some idiotic way, he thought that by joining in he was protecting Helena and the people he cared about._

_And now? He was all alone._

_Until that late afternoon in early February, that was._

_He was on duty, watching the stores to make sure theft would not be attempted in the wake of recent chaos. It had been weeks since the trial, things had pretty much gone back to normal, but there he was, watching the stores anyway, because those were his orders._

_There was no one around. The town felt like a ghost, a sad remnant of what once was. He knew people were either at home or at work, as curfew was nearing fast. Yet even knowing this, it was easy to forget that he wasn’t, in fact, the only survivor standing here, alone._

_He sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, figuring that, from this venture point, he would see any daring idiot approach anyway. He checked his phone out of habit. There were no messages, of course. Sighing, he slid it back into his jacket pocket, just as he heard footsteps drawing near._

_Lazily raising his eyes to greet the intruder, he was met with Grizz’s inquisitive brown eyes._

_“Hey man,” Grizz offered casually, which was refreshing, after weeks of dark looks and scampered avoidance from everyone around him._

_“Hey.”_

_“Busy day, huh?”_

_“Well you know me, never a dead moment with me.”_

_Grizz huffed humorously and quietly took a seat next to Luke, not bothering to wait for an invitation._

_“Sorry for the boring assignments.”_

_“It’s okay. Not your fault.”_

_And it wasn’t. Even as the head of security, when it came to low-key punishing pardoned rebels, Grizz didn’t have much decision-making power. Allie and Will were too aware of his kind-hearted nature to let him make those calls. In a way, it was generous of them, not to have Grizz be petty towards those who had once been his friends. He could wash his hands of what happened to them, even though nothing was quite so simple, obviously._

_“Still.”_

_“I know.”_

_They watched the empty street in silence, Luke wondering what brought on this sudden camaraderie. Grizz hadn’t spoken to him since the trial. It wasn’t that he had been angry at him per say, but Luke supposed there had been some avoidance, linked to utter incomprehension, but also plain disappointment. Luke didn’t judge him for it. If he were Grizz, he’d be disappointed too._

_When Grizz finally broke the silence, his comment seemed abrupt, bordering on non-sequitur, but in reality, in the context of the last weeks, and even months, it really wasn’t._

_“You know, I’ve been racking my brain, and I still don’t get it.”_

_Luke raised a subdued expression of curiosity towards Grizz. “Get what?”_

_“How you could get on board with that shit. Clark and Jason? I get it. Harry? Sure, I see it. Lexie? Unexpected, but ok. You, though? Pure nonsense.”_

_Luke sighed, lowering his eyes in shame. He couldn’t look Grizz in the eye as he tried to explain what he himself didn’t fully understand._

_“You weren’t there, man.”_

_“So?”_

_“You weren’t there, you didn’t see it happen. If you’d been there… maybe things would have been different.”_

_Quietly, Grizz seemed to ponder the answer. When he responded, he sounded neither offended nor angry. Only pragmatically curious._

_“So you’re blaming me?”_

_“No! God, no, Grizz. All I’m saying is…” Luke looked up to the sky, as if the grey clouds looming over their heads could provide answers he didn’t have. “You’re strong, Grizz. You’re strong, and I’m not. If you’d been there, maybe I would have stayed strong. Maybe I wouldn’t have given in to fear.” He met Grizz’s eyes for the last bit because he needed him to see that he meant it. “I got scared, Grizz. I got scared for Helena, for me, for this town. I let myself believe that I had no choice. I guess that means I’m weak.”_

_Grizz held his glance, and Luke could almost see the internal dialogue transpire on his face._

_“I am not strong, Luke,” was all Grizz replied._

_Luke huffed. “Dude, you’re the strongest person I know. There’s a reason people look up to you. Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean others don’t.”_

_Grizz did not know how to respond to that._

_That was fine. The silence was fine._

_For a little while, Luke didn’t have to feel so alone._

o0o0o

Like every other night, Luke woke abruptly in the middle of the night, spurred by the usual nightmares. The digital clock on his nightstand read 3:32 AM. He knew from experience that he wouldn’t go back to sleep. Resigned, he got up.

It wasn’t always the same dream, but the idea remained the same. He saw himself get roped into evil designs by dark figures that remotely looked like Campbell, Harry, Clark, and Jason.

Sometimes he saw people he loved pushing him off a cliff. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. Every time, he fell into oblivion with the overpowering knowledge that he deserved it.

He saw Greg’s body go limp as a thin, constant stream of blood poured from his forehead.

He saw Helena’s look of betrayal and disappointment, the one she shot him as she barged into that town meeting to overthrow their coup. That image was the most vivid he ever saw in his dreams. It haunted him, in sleep and in waking terrors. He would never forget the pain of seeing her look at him this way, telling him silently, but in no uncertain terms that what they had was forever broken.

Mechanically, Luke grabbed his phone and patted his way to the kitchen downstairs, trying to avoid waking his parents. The last thing he needed was for them to see him up and start asking questions. He didn’t need them to worry. That helped no one.

He turned on the small light above the stove and poured himself a glass of water. As he gulped it down, he distractedly glimpsed at the screen of his phone. There were messages. Some group chat with Jason, Clark, Shoe, some others. Luke generally ignored them, but there were so many, all of a sudden. They had been particularly active between midnight and one in the morning, skidding on a rampant anti-Allie tirade, for no reason other than that they were bored.

Always the same tune, with Clark and Jason.

He couldn’t say he had been particularly close with them since their coup debacle. He never fully got over the bitter resentment he felt towards them, for manipulating him into joining their stupid revolution. He also never grew the balls to confront them. Instead, he ghosted their group chat and used silence as his weapon.

Once the other two had started their community service, they barely talked anyway. They were moved to a small house bordering the forest, and they worked crazy long hours out on the field. Luke was busy watching over things that didn’t need watching. They hardly ever crossed paths.

He knew the boys didn’t blame him for coming out of this unscathed. They blamed Allie and her crew for anything anyway. Luke supposed he had become enough of a social pariah for him to retain his criminal associates’ respect. Much good that did him.

He wondered why he didn’t just exit the chat and silently kick them out of his life. In reality, he knew why, of course. The status quo was too comfortable to ditch. He spent his days feeling sorry for himself, never doing anything about it.

Without feeling particularly interested, he browsed through the heavy flow of earlier messages. From what he could see, those guys were not getting over their Allie hate fest any time soon. Had it just been hateful talk as an outlet for their need of victimization, he wouldn’t have found it particularly worrying. Clark and Jason had been known to be all bark, no bite. Lately, however, it had evolved into than mere barking into the void of self-serving group chats. He knew, from Gwen and others, that the boys were riling people up at support groups. The scary part was that it seemed to be working and they were garnering a weird following.

All Luke wanted was for this New Ham nightmare to be left behind, forgotten. The thought of Clark and Jason not only bringing it all up again, but actually making it worse, made him anxious. He really, really hoped it would die down quickly.

Leaving his empty glass in the dishwasher, he hiked his way back upstairs, to his bed, hoping to get some more sleep.

He knew it was pointless.

o0o0o

_Luke had been back on Guard duty for a little under a month when he finally received an assignment that sounded like it had an actual purpose._

_He would have felt excited, had the job not involved watching over Elle, whom he had been absolutely unable to look in the eye since the Rebellion. He rarely ever saw her, but the rare times that he did, he felt overrun with shame and guilt for having been an accomplice of Campbell. That asshole had made Elle’s life an absolute living Hell, for no other reason than her being an easy victim. Luke, like a heartless crook, had allied himself to the guy. Sweet, innocent Elle; they had all collectively failed her._

_Now, she lived her life in a kind of self-imposed isolation. Her roommates said she was fine, but everyone knew Elle didn’t open up to anyone. Sometimes, she was assigned to certain work shifts, always the lightest, easiest ones. Mostly, she stayed home. Luke suspected Allie only gave her work when she requested it, and let her be when she didn’t. Luke supposed he wasn’t the only one feeling bad._

_Then, one day, Elle surprised everyone by asking to work out on the field. She claimed she needed to get out of town, and that the fresh air would help her. The council tried to convince her that it was a bad idea – Campbell’s accomplices worked there, and it was hard, back-breaking work. She insisted, and they came to a compromise. She would go and watch for a day, and then decide._

_Luke was told to accompany her and stay by her side all day, for her protection. The decision, of course, baffled him. Hadn’t he too been an accomplice?_

_“She specifically asked for you,” was all Allie said, before dismissing him with a nod of the head._

_And so here he was, sitting with Elle on the sidelines of the field, silently watching the workers – who weren’t all prisoners, although the latter category was the one earning the least appealing tasks and the longest hours. It was still cold out, but the sweat was running over everyone’s faces as they fought with stubborn, frozen earth. It would have made sense to wait for spring, but the food supplies were rapidly running out, and they were all anxious to see their plan B bearing fruit. They had briefly lost control over supplies during Lexie and Harry’s short chaotic term as co-mayors, and now they paid the price. Thanks to their political shenanigans, now the winter proved even scarier than anticipated._

_Luke must have been fidgeting, because Elle eventually voiced his thoughts as if she could effortlessly read them, without even taking her eyes off the exhausted workers._

_“You’re wondering why I asked for you.”_

_Luke turned to her with an unveiled expression of contrite surprise. “Hum…” he stuttered uneasily. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t expect it.”_

_Elle persisted in talking without making eye contact. He supposed that worked just fine for him._

_“Don’t let it get to your head, I actually asked for Grizz first. But Allie couldn’t spare him.”_

_Luke would have expected her to sound angry, spiteful. He wouldn’t have blamed her for wanting to make him feel small and ashamed. That would actually have explained her choosing him. He could have wrapped his head around that more easily than the actual tranquil expression on her face. She was giving him facts, free of all accusations._

_“There’s other Guard members,” he countered._

_“Not many who are actually qualified. The others need guns to make up for unintimidating physiques.”_

_“I’m actually not allowed to bear arms.”_

_“That’s why I feel safer with you.”_

_Luke let that sink in for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to him that she could even feel safe with him, under the circumstances._

_Minutes later, he couldn’t keep it in anymore._

_“I’m sorry,” he uttered weakly, uncertainly. “For what I did.”_

_She shrugged, still not looking at him. “You didn’t abuse me. Campbell did.”_

_“Yeah, but I worked with him. And so did they.” He raised his chin as he spoke, pointing in the general direction of where Clark and Jason worked tirelessly with archaic-looking tools._

_She shrugged again. “It’s not your fault.”_

_Luke couldn’t help the disbelief on his face. “Not our fault?”_

_She shook her head slightly. “It’s what Campbell does.” She paused. “I mean_ , did _. He manipulated people. He’d always find that one thing that people truly, deeply desired. He’d dangle it in front of your eyes and promise you the world. When you realized you’d made a mistake, it was too late.” She smiled wryly. “I should know.”_

 _Luke couldn’t bring himself to ask what it was_ she _had truly, deeply desired. He could guess. She had never had many friends at school. Some people had been outright mean to her, but mostly, people ignored her, acted like she didn’t exist. It must have been fairly easy for Campbell to convince her to trust him, as the only person that seemed to give a shit about her at all._

_Luke had been so unaware of his privilege, for so long. So insouciant. So dumb._

_“It’s scary, really.” Elle startled him by resuming her stream of consciousness. “How he just gets people. He doesn’t think like us, doesn’t feel like us, but he understands how people work. Especially desperate people. It’s like he’s not human at all, but he’s studied us so meticulously that he now knows human nature in and out. He knows us better than we do ourselves.”_

_She smiled sheepishly as she tore her eyes away from the workers and looked down at her hands, wringing her fingers against her lap. “I guess I should speak in the past.”_

_Luke wasn’t sure it was his place to ask any questions, but Elle was too intriguing for him to keep it in. “Why do you really want to work on the field?”_

_For the first time, she looked straight at him, and the air was knocked out of his lungs._

_“I guess I was hoping it would feel less suffocating out here.”_

_Elle no longer lived in the Eliot residence. No one did. She was moved to a nice house, with friendly housemates and a decent amount of space and privacy. But of course, that’s not what she meant._

_Abruptly, she stood up._

_“You guys were right, this work’s not for me.”_

_Right away, she started walking back towards the town. Startled, but considerate enough not to ask, Luke silently followed._

o0o0o

Luke was on his way to the store, upon his mother’s request – any excuse was good to get him out of the house, he supposed – when he noticed Grizz in the park. He was sitting on the grass, alone, with a book he didn’t seem to be actually reading.

Without really thinking about it, he swerved and made his way to him.

“Hey, Grizz.”

The other boy looked startled at first, and then relaxed when he saw Luke approaching.

“Oh, hey man.”

“What’s up?”

“Not much.”

The answer was casual, uneventful. Now that Luke stood closer, though, he could tell that Grizz looked… rough. He had circles under his eyes, and his dirty hair was poorly concealed in a messy bun. If Luke hadn’t known any better, he would have thought him homeless.

“Are you sure?”

“What, is something wrong with my hair?”

Grizz’s tone was light and playful, but a glint in his eyes only confirmed that Luke was right to feel concerned. He quietly took a seat on the ground next to him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, man, but you look like you haven’t showered in a while.”

“Yeah…” Grizz sighed. “I haven’t been sleeping at home.”

“Dude, what happened?”

Grizz slowly shook his head, grasping for words. “I… got in a sort of argument with my parents… I guess.”

Luke frowned. “Did… they kick you out?”

“No… not really. I guess you could say I preventively extracted myself from the situation before it got to that.”

Luke debated internally whether to insist and ask for more details. He figured he would give it one last try. “Why? Did you do something?”

Grizz sighed again, wringing his fingers nervously. “It’s complicated.”

Luke nodded, as if he understood. He had no idea what really went down in that house, but he knew ‘complicated’ well enough.

“You can stay at mine.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I…”

“Dude.” This time, Luke was firm enough that Grizz stopped with the meaningless excuses. “You’re not sleeping out here. You’re coming home with me.”

“I…” Grizz looked uncomfortable, but was failing to come up with a reasonable excuse not to accept. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense!” Luke stood up as he said it, as if to further drive his point that arguing was futile. “You’re never a burden. Plus, my parents will be thrilled to see I still have friends.”

Grizz chuckled. “Well, if you put it that way.”

“We just need to drop by the store on the way, my mom wants cilantro. It’s good you’re here because I have no idea what cilantro looks like.”

Grizz huffed. “ _Really?_ You’ve never seen cilantro?”

“Not in its uncooked form, no. All I know is it tastes like soap, and I’m not about to lick every herb until I find it.”

“Okay, I can’t _believe_ you’re one of those people who hate cilantro, but I’ll let it slide since, you know, you’re letting me stay at yours and all.”

“It literally tastes like soapy pennies.”

“ _Don’t._ ”


	13. Harry Bingham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, the halfway point.
> 
> How exciting.

_Harry had experienced withdrawal before. He had first gone through it when Campbell abruptly stopped bringing him pills, maybe one month after Prom. Just when Harry was really hooked, but apparently no longer of use to Campbell._

_Harry went through all the stages, each more humiliating than the one before. Harassing Campbell for more, throwing angry (and mostly empty) threats, and when all else failed, desperately bargaining. And then plain begging. Crying. Hysteria._

_After a while, he no longer had the strength to leave his room. Too sick, too delirious._ _Eventually, too depressed._

_Funnily enough, it hadn’t even crossed his mind then that he could be depressed. He didn’t feel sad, he didn’t feel down. He felt tired. Like every inch of his body was just, so, heavy. He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t eat. He thought he was dying. The withdrawal stopped. The dying didn’t._

_The walks Kelly dragged him on helped a little. Maybe. But the only thing he could think about was how far away he was from his bed, and how he just wanted to sleep some more. Just a little more._

_Then Campbell reappeared out of nowhere. It was shameful how easy it was for Harry to accept the pills. The effects were almost instant. He was out of bed, he was doing things, he was able to think. He felt alive again._ _He wasn’t hooked or anything like that. He just needed the little pick-me-up. Just a little pill. Just one more. That was all. Just to keep going._

_Campbell disappeared again, for good, after the Rebellion. Harry didn’t see him in their cell, nor at trial, or anywhere else after that. As every day passed without a pill, Harry grew restless. He felt the effects of withdrawal clinging to his insides, and he couldn’t go through that again, he couldn’t._

_It was messy. He was barely aware of anything that went down during the trial. Sometimes he grew hysterical, throwing raging fits in his cell. The rest of the time, he was a vegetable. It felt worse than the last time. By the time he was moved to new living quarters, in a room he shared with Clark and Jason, he was hallucinating, and he could no longer tell the difference between reality and visions._

_When it finally dissipated, he crashed. Harder than ever. It felt horrible until he stopped feeling anything. And he just wished he could feel again. Anything. Just for a second._

_Please?_

o0o0o

The room was eerily silent. All but for the constant tick-tock of the grandfather clock distantly towering over him, and Harry couldn’t help but think that this was the most clichéd therapist's office he had ever seen.

Not that he had been in many therapists’ offices in his life. He had seen one, just after his dad’s passing. Evidently, it was his mom’s idea. He didn’t have much of a choice, but once he obediently tried it for a little while, and still deemed it useless, she let him off the hook.

Now, he had a feeling he was in this for the long haul. Rehab may have been a relatively breezy affair, but therapy would take a while. His mom wouldn’t let him off the hook this time. She was hysterical every time they mentioned his arrest and she hovered over him every minute of the day she didn’t spend at the office. All he could think about, as he counted the ticks and the tocks of the stupid grandfather clock, was that he hadn’t even gotten one good high out of this shitty situation. Fucking cop for catching him before he could even swallow the damn pills.

So there he was, listening to the irritatingly regular clock, under the tranquil surveillance of his therapist, who patiently waited for him to talk.

He never did. This was his third session, and he still hadn’t uttered a single word beyond the introductory necessities. He had many flaws, but he was also stubborn as hell. Maybe stubbornness wasn’t a quality either. It didn’t matter anyway. He wouldn’t talk. Maybe, if he went on like this, his mother would recognize the pointlessness of the investment, and stop forcing him to go. He wasn’t sure how much Dr. Singh shared with his mother about these appointments, but she _had_ to at least tell her that her son refused to speak. She had to, right?

Even though he knew it was coming, he was startled by the soothing iPhone alert that marked the end of their session.

“I’ll see you next week,” Dr. Singh said with a cheery smile.

He muttered a noncommittal response and left.

o0o0o

“So I’ve decided I’m not going to start a new improv group.”

Lexie looked strong and confident as she announced this, and Harry had to raise both eyebrows in quiet admiration.

“Giving up already?”

“Nope, it’s not giving up. I’ve just decided to focus on a different project.”

“Ooh, and what would that be?”

He spoke with variations in tone and facial expressions. It almost felt as if he were actually doing better. If he disregarded, of course, how he was still wearing his pajamas, hadn’t showered since the day of his last therapy session, and was sprawled into the messy sheets of his bed as he chatted with his guest. Deep down, he knew he wasn't better, but he allowed these brief moments of perceived normalcy to fool him, sometimes. Maybe, one day, they would last.

He wasn’t sure why Lexie kept coming over. He supposed she was just as lonely as he was. He pretended he didn’t need company, but in some odd inexplicable way, he appreciated the visits. They were a welcome distraction in an otherwise monotonous routine. Plus, unlike his mom or sister, Lexie didn’t treat him as if he could break any second. That was refreshing.

“I’ve decided to start a new support group.”

Harry frowned, but couldn’t help the amusement from invading his features.

“Sorry to break it to you, Lexie, but it’s been done.”

“Oh, you mean all the anti-Allie and pro-Allie groups going rampant around town? No thank you. I’ve been talking to some of the girls – those that still talk to me, that is – and we kind of just want a freaking support group that’s not about politics.”

“Wow. So you _can_ do apolitical after all.”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?”

He raised both hands in a pretense of self-defense. “I stand corrected.”

“But hey, I haven’t started yet. Who knows how long it’ll take me to start casually impersonating Hitler for fun.”

“Yikes.”

“Anyway. Enough about me. How are _you_?”

Harry outstretched both arms to emphasize his lazy demeanor and pitiful appearance. “I’m obviously doing great.”

A smile shyly tugged at her lips, but she remained serious. “How’s therapy?”

“Boring.”

“By no fault of your own, I presume?”

Harry shrugged with his usual indifferent air. “It’s not for me.”

Lexie looked like she wanted to protest, but she made an effort to remain open-minded, which was impressive in itself coming from her. “Why is that?” she asked, in an attempt at sounding nonjudgmental.

Harry sighed. He hated having to explain himself, it never worked in his favor. But he also didn’t want to be rude and dismissive with the only person that really bothered to listen lately. “I’ve already recovered from my addiction. They sent me to rehab, but I already wasn’t addicted to the pills anymore. I don’t see how therapy’s going to be any more helpful.”

“And yet you went out to buy the pills you’re not addicted to anymore.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same.”

“No? How so?” There was a hint of irritation in Lexie's tone, which pierced through in spite of her best efforts.

He shook his head, now seeing he had been right to be wary of explaining things, even to her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well that’s presumptive. And rude.”

“Lexie, I’m just tired…”

“Yeah? You’re tired? Me too.”

Harry wasn’t sure when Lexie’s tone shifted from careful listening to angry snapping, but now she definitely looked pissed. Once again, he had disappointed somebody, and he didn’t even know how, or why. That had to be a gift of his.

Lexie had no patience for his pitiful demeanor. She kept going. “You know what, Harry? I’m tired of acting like all of your feelings are valid. They’re not. You’re surrounded by people who care, which not everybody is lucky enough to have. Now, I understand that depression is more complex than that, that you can’t just open your eyes and start feeling grateful. It’s hard work. But if there’s one thing I do understand, it’s that you need to stop saying you’re not addicted anymore. You don’t just get over addiction. That shit always stays with you. You’ll always be an addict, Harry. You need to accept it, but also accept that you don’t have to do this alone.”

Harry was feeling the headache spread across the confines of his skull and he was feeling too irritable to respond with care. He would do what he did best, which was pushing people away.

“Oh, and what exactly do you know about addiction, miss goodie-two-shoes?”

“My brother’s an alcoholic.”

“And… wait, what?”

Harry frowned as he actually processed those words. He was so taken aback, the only thing he could find to say was a dumb “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Exactly.” She let the single word emphatically hang over the both of them. “I know pain, Harry. Stop acting like no one can ever get you.”

She stood and left.

Harry stared at the gaping door of his room for a long while before he groaned and let himself dissolve into the messy pile of sheets and pillows surrounding him once more.

o0o0o

Later that night, Daniela slipped into his room and climbed into his bed. She snuggled next to him, just as she had when they both were younger and carefree, unaware of the harsh and painfully real torment of loss and guilt.

He offered no complaints, no insipid big-brother reasoning as to how she was too old for this now.

The next morning, their mom found them in the same position, and Harry thought he saw a smile on her lips.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d caught such a sight.

o0o0o

Jason and Clark looked proud of themselves, which wasn’t in itself surprising. They had a way of deriving pride from the silliest things. There had been that time, in their tiny New Ham bedroom – with some random guard standing watch from the living room, – when Jason had described in most excruciating detail how monstrous his latest poop had been, and he had looked so pleased about it too.

That said, what they were bringing him today, on this unfortunately-routine visit, was no tale of epic defecation.

“You should have seen it, man. There were at least thirty people in the room!”

“At _least!_ ”

“There’s never this many people there, but the word’s been getting around, and they all had their own piece of mind to share about the bitch!”

The bitch. Allie Pressman’s new glorious nickname among the Clark and Jason gang. How charming.

“Shoe talked about how the council basically bullied him after the trial, even after the jury found him not guilty, and people got so angry.”

“Oh, man, the energy! You should have been there!”

“Yeah man, you should come next time! You’d love it.”

For the first time since they’d confidently rested their butts in Harry’s desk chair and armchair, there was a moment of silence, as they expectantly awaited his answer. Harry blinked a few times, lazily, realizing he had to say something, but also knowing he didn’t want any part of this nonsense.

Maybe it was Daniela’s more sustained presence around him, maybe it was the fact he’d been sleeping better lately, but he was feeling a little philosophical today. He would either teach the guys a lesson, or confuse them. Either way, he hoped that meant they would leave him alone.

“You know what I’ve been doing lately?” he asked, casually enough. “I’ve been spending time with my sister. Man, she’s grown up a lot, since we left. And since we got back, too. We’ve been talking. I’m trying to get to know the newer, older her. I found out she’s _really_ into YA novels. I now know way more about this whole Edward vs. Jacob fiasco than I should as a nineteen-year-old male.”

Clark and Jason put on an interested front, but Harry could tell they had no idea where this was going, and only listened respectfully because they thought they had to. That was one good thing about having been sick for so long. They all thought he was a fragile artifact to protect, lest they break him into a million pieces. That sometimes came in handy.

He continued, unbothered by his audience’s cluelessness.

“There’s this book she was telling me about last night. It’s about a girl. She moves to a new school, where she doesn’t know anybody. She’s struggling to make new friends, and then this really nice guy comes up to her and asks her out. She accepts. They meet in a park at night, they go down the slides, they tell jokes, they laugh. She thinks she’s made a friend. Then, the next day, he sends everyone pictures of her as she’s going down the slides, with her underwear clearly showing. She learns that the guy, who’s actually quite popular, has a girlfriend and she, like, rules the school. She becomes persona non grata. She gets called a slut, people she’s never spoken to start cyberbullying her. She’s a fucking virgin, and now she’s branded as the resident whore of the school. Eventually, she just kind of gives in and embraces the label. It becomes this whole mess, a big vicious cycle where more and more people start hating her, and it spreads like wildfire. By the end, practically no one knows the real her. She commits suicide. And then a collection of tapes start going around the school, to all the people who had a part in making her miserable. You could say everyone’s participation was somewhat mild, but altogether, they broke her completely. And the people that made her life a living hell? Are they feeling better now that she’s gone? Nope. They’re miserable. And they’re stuck feeling like shit for the rest of their lives. While she was still alive to take the abuse, they all fooled themselves into thinking she deserved it. None of them stopped to feel bad. But once she was gone, they did. And it was too late to apologize then.”

Harry paused, seemingly reflective. Seeing that he was done, Jason practically burst.

“The fuck?”

Clark joined in almost immediately. “Yeah, man, that’s dark as fuck. What are you saying?”

Harry shrugged, keeping up his cryptic air. “Nothing. I guess I’m just sharing.”

Jason frowned, looking irritated. “Are you trying to say we’re bullies? Because if you are, that’s fucked up! You were there, man. You know what it was like.”

“Yeah,” Clark chimed in. “You _know_ she’s no victim. She was an actual dictator, not a fucking new kid on the block.”

Harry shrugged again. “Then again, guys. I’m just sharing.”

Jason huffed and stood. “Alright, I’m done here. Let’s go, Clark.”

Harry thought he saw the slightest waver in Clark’s expression. The slightest hesitation.

And then it was gone.

“Yeah. See you when you’re less weird, Harry.”

o0o0o

Mayor Bingham obviously wished she didn’t have to leave her depressive son at home every day to go to work, but town affairs had been on hold for long enough, and she was needed. Honestly, Harry appreciated the peace and quiet that came with her and Daniela leaving for work and school, respectively.

As per usual, when the mayor returned home that evening, she dropped by his room to kiss him hello.

“Hi honey, how was your day?”

The stupidest question to ask someone with depression, but Harry was willing to let it slide. She meant well.

“Fine.”

She smiled. Even he could see that smile took every ounce of effort for her to make it look genuine. It still didn’t.

For maybe the first time in weeks, he returned the question. “And you? How was your day?”

She looked startled. For a second. And then she slapped that smile back on her face, as if nothing could ever be wrong.

“Oh, you know,” she said with a dismissive movement of the hand, “just the usual. Boring stuff. I’m glad you’re doing well, honey.”

She made to leave the room, as if running away. Harry was faster to call out. “Mom?”

She turned back around, a kindly inquisitive look on her face. “Yes, honey?”

He had rehearsed it in his head, but it still only difficultly came out. “I’m sorry.”

The mayor frowned and walked back towards his bed. The look on her face could only be described as hesitant dismay. “Sorry for what, honey? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He shook his head because he knew. “I do, though. I do. I haven’t been a good son, since coming back. And even before. I was privileged, I didn’t see how lucky I was to have what I had. I haven’t treated you right. Or Daniela. Or Dad.”

The mere mention of his dad reduced his mother’s carefully crafted front to a pile of crumbs. She sat on the bed in an act that transpired with near desperation. “Harry, honey, don’t say that, you’ve always been so good. So good.”

She grabbed his hands and squeezed a little too hard. Somehow, through the pain, it felt reassuring.

“I’ve been struggling, mom.”

The tears were no longer threatening to spill from Mayor Bingham’s eyes. They were pouring shamelessly. “Honey, I know. I know.”

“And I’ve been unfair to you.”

“Honey, you’re sick.” She was practically pleading with him. As if every word that came out of his mouth stabbed her in the heart.

He shook his head. “Yeah, there’s that. But also, I think I’ve been angry at you. I found out that you were seeing someone else, while I was away. And it’s like, as long as I was away from you guys, I didn’t care about any of that, but when I came back, and I got to be with you and Daniela, it’s like, it all came back to me. I didn’t know how to feel. Happy, angry, sad. And then I started feeling like _this_ again, and I could see it was making you miserable, and I felt sorry for dropping another burden on you, and I felt sorry for having felt angry at all, because… we all do bad things, mom. We all make mistakes. I sure have, and who am I to be angry at you?”

“Harry…” she choked on her words, and on her tears. “Honey, I am so sorry… I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d know. I…”

“I know. That’s not the point. The point is I forgive you. And I shouldn’t even _have_ to forgive you, because I’ve been a lot to deal with, and I should give you some damn slack.”

His mom was crying uncontrollably, and he wondered if he had just made a terrible mistake.

And then she hugged him. Too tight.

He hugged back.

“I haven’t… seen him… Not since…”

“It’s okay, mom. It doesn’t matter.”

“All of this… it’s my fault…”

“No, mom. It’s not your fault.”

“It is!” She drew away and grabbed his shoulders as she said so. She looked practically hysterical at this point, and Harry veered on the side of worry again. “It’s all my fault, what happened to you and your friends. We did bad things, Harry. And that was our punishment. If we acted sooner, you wouldn’t have gone through this. It’s all my fault if you’re like this. I could have saved you sooner. I could have…”

Harry couldn’t say he understood. He didn’t think there was much sense to be made of all this. She was breaking down. After such a long time posing as a strong woman – someone who was in control, who was reliable and level-headed – maybe she needed to break down. Just a little.

He hugged her again.

“It’s okay, mom. You couldn’t know. We’re okay.”

He had to repeat it. For his own benefit.

“We’re okay.”


	14. Grizz Visser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday.
> 
> Did you guys also lose track of what day of the week it is? I keep getting it wrong.

_Soon enough, Grizz officially moved into the Pressman household. A mattress was added to the bedroom already shared by Gordie and Bean, so he would no longer have to break his six-foot-two giant’s back on that living room couch._

_It was quieter than his previous living situation. Bean was out working on the field most days, and when the weather permitted, she camped there with Gwen, Mickey, and other project leaders._ _Gordie was pulling all-nighters at the clinic every other night. Consequently, Grizz had the room to himself on a regular basis._

_He would never stay alone for long. Many quiet nights, Sam’s shadowy figure would slip into the dark, silent bedroom and join him under the covers. Sometimes, they’d feverishly explore each other’s body until the early hours of morning. Other times, they’d merely bask in the comfort of the other’s warmth, sleeping against each other until Sam silently made his way back to his room at dawn._

_And the charade lived on._

_One particularly forsaken morning, Grizz gave up trying to go back to sleep. It was 6:02, and he had watched the minutes slip by on his digital clock since Sam slipped out at 5:22. He sighed and got up, figuring he might as well try and be productive._

_He padded down the stairs quietly; there was no need to disturb the entire household as retribution for his own dysfunctional sleeping routine. It was so quiet down there, he was sure to find an empty kitchen. He was thus startled to find Becca sitting at the island, silently nursing a lukewarm-looking cup of coffee._

_“Oh, hi,” he muttered awkwardly, realizing too late he had ruined his chance at sneaking back out unseen._

_Becca raised tired eyes in his direction and smiled. “Morning, Grizz.” She seemed to appraise his appearance, which was evidently that of someone who hadn’t properly slept in weeks. In the end, she settled on a thankfully more neutral comment. “You’re up early.”_

_“Oh, yeah, couldn’t sleep.”_

_Seeing as there was no way out, he made his way to the coffee machine and was glad to find enough lukewarm coffee left for him to fill a mug._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Becca nod lightly. “Yeah. Same here.”_

_He really hoped it wasn’t Sam who had woken her up on his way back. He did not trust the redhead to come up with a believable explanation on the spot. Sam had his qualities. Lying was not one of them._

_There was silence, as he took a seat at the island, neither too close nor too far away from Becca. She stared at him, as if analyzing him attentively. He smiled awkwardly, hoping to dampen the tension he seemed to be the only one to feel._

_After an interminable pause, she finally spoke. Her tone was casual; she sounding like someone talking about the weather. Except, she wasn’t. “You’re uncomfortable around me.”_

_Her tone did nothing towards alleviating his stupefaction. If anything, her certitude only seemed to heighten it._

_“Uh… what? No, I…”_

_“Is it because of Sam?”_

_He practically choked on his coffee. Somehow, he had thought taking a sip right at this moment was a good idea. Maybe he thought it would make him look unconcerned. And unguilty. “W – what?”_

_She smiled understandingly. The way a mother does at her kid’s obvious white lies. It was kind. Weirdly endeared. Maybe a little patronizing. “I hope you don’t think I’m that stupid, Grizz.”_

_Air was knocked out of his lungs. He did not even dare think of a response to that._

_Instead, he let her carry on. “I know I may have been a little out of it lately… since everything. I can’t say I’ve been at my most astute. But I have eyes. And Sam’s not the epitome of sneakiness.”_

_Grizz was almost tempted to smile at that._

_He didn’t, though. He didn’t think that was appropriate. He could only bring himself to sit there still, dumbly opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Caught red-handed stealing another fish’s boyfriend._

_Becca’s smile did not waver. She was eerily calm and cool, in the softened lighting of early morning. “It’s fine, Grizz. Sam and I aren’t a married couple or anything. We have shared responsibilities, but we’re not together like that. Surely_ you _should know that.”_

_“Uh…”_

_Yes, he knew that. Sam was very adamant about it. But another thing Sam was adamant about was_ not telling Becca _. Because she was fragile; she had been through a lot; and now was not a good time. Grizz had accepted it, but deep down, he still worried Sam was playing games with him. He worried Sam was being ingenuine, and that most pathetically, he was letting him. He'd let Sam skirt the truth because the prospect of not having his warmth against him at night seemed worse than going through those bleak days in truthful loneliness._

_Becca seemed unconcerned by his utter lack of loquaciousness. She lowered her eyes to her half-empty mug of now-cold coffee as she said, “I know he’s not telling me because he’s afraid I’ll take it the wrong way. I don’t blame him. I haven’t exactly been easy on him during this pregnancy. I often accused him of wanting out. I guess I_ have _been a little fragile after all.” She raised her eyes to meet his then. “But I do want him to be happy.”_

_She outstretched an arm and gripped his hand over the island. “Just take care of him, will you? Because I can’t do it alone.”_

_And the only thing Grizz could do was nod, like in a daze._

_“Okay.”_

o0o0o

‘ _I’m at the door’_ was all that Sam’s text said.

When Grizz opened the front door of the Holbrooks’ house, there he was, on the porch, phone in one hand, while the other sunk awkwardly into his pocket.

The phone was rapidly slipped into his other pocket so he could free his hands. _Hi,_ he signed.

“Hey,” Grizz responded, too surprised to mirror the easy greeting sign he knew.

_I heard you weren’t staying at home anymore,_ Sam signed, voicing some of the words at the level of a whisper.

Grizz hadn’t texted Sam since the incident at his house, with his parents. He was ashamed. Of what had happened, but also of having left Sam in the dark. It had just been too much to handle. He had ignored Sam’s texts because he just didn’t know what to say. He supposed he was afraid, too.

Yet, there Sam was. Like a boomerang. Always coming back right where he belonged.

Noting his lack of response, Sam adopted a worried expression. _I missed you,_ he signed, bracing for impact in case of rejection _._

That had the benefit of shocking Grizz back into responsiveness. Of course he could never reject Sam. “Come in?” he asked with a tilt of the head towards the inside of the house.

Sam smiled, the worry not quite leaving his face. He stepped inside and followed Grizz to the room that was currently his, right next to Luke’s. Grizz closed the door quietly, and when he turned back to face Sam, those worried eyes still held onto his, expectantly.

Grizz sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. _I’m sorry,_ he signed. “I’m sorry I didn’t text back.”

Sam shook his head dismissively. “It’s okay. I was just worried about you.”

Desperate to wash the fear off Sam’s features, Grizz stepped forward. He delicately framed the other boy’s face with his hands, and kissed him softly. Sam’s hands rose to grip the sides of his shirt, and he could feel the desperation in the simplicity of that small gesture.

“I missed you too,” he muttered against Sam’s lips, momentarily forgetting he couldn’t be heard that way.

He felt Sam’s fingers climb to his shoulders and tickle the sides of his neck, and a shiver ran down his spine. He was so, so freaking hopeless.

When he opened his eyes again, a pair of immersive blue eyes stared back intensely. Before he let himself rip Sam’s clothes off in a surely effective avoidance of a conversation, he took his hand and led him to the bed, where they sat facing each other.

“What happened after I left?” Sam asked, and Grizz didn’t need to ask what he meant.

When his dad had walked in, it had all happened so quickly. His dad yelled some expletives and left the room. The boys got dressed in a hurry, and Grizz practically rushed Sam out the door, with barely an explanation or an indication of what was to come.

And then, radio silence.

It wasn’t surprising that Sam had worried, really. He didn’t quite know what there was to say, though. “My dad was angry at first, but after you left, he was… really quiet. My mom too. We didn’t talk at all, actually.”

His dad had only said one thing. A question. _Are you punishing us for something?_

And that was it. Grizz had gone upstairs. Packed a bag. Left the house. Hadn’t gone back in days.

He had learned from Luke’s dad that his mom had reached out, looking for him. Chief Holbrook had told her he was with them, safe and sound, and that he could stay with them for as long as he needed. That had seemed to reassure her. “I think she wants you home, son,” the chief had said. Grizz appreciated the thought behind it. But he wasn’t ready. The chief hadn’t insisted.

“Are you going to talk to them?” Sam asked, frowning.

Grizz sighed. “I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. Taking it one day at a time was already scary enough.

Sam rested a hand on his. “When you’re ready.”

Grizz nodded. And then huffed. “It wasn’t meant to happen this way.”

Sam smiled sadly. “It never happens like it’s supposed to.”

“How did _your_ parents find out?” Grizz realized he had never asked.

Sam’s smile wavered slightly. “Well, it wasn’t nearly as eventful as them walking in on me naked with a boy. I told them over dinner, one night. I hadn’t planned it. It just kind of… came out, I guess.”

“How did they react?”

“Campbell said something mean, our parents clapped back and yelled at him for it. From then on, they were supportive.” He frowned. “I guess they still secretly hoped it was a phase, though. I didn’t realize it until they asked Becca and I if we were going to get married the other day.”

Grizz’s eyebrows shot up. “Woah.”

“Yeah. So at least, your parents’ reaction was honest.”

Grizz supposed that was somewhat true. He wasn’t sure it made him feel much better, though.

Sam breathed in slowly, and delicately brushed a strand of hair out of Grizz’s face, tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“In the end, you should care about what makes you happy. Not others.”

That hit home. A little too close for comfort.

He almost blurted out the words. “I think I want to go to college.” He couldn’t take it back now. “I can’t be stagnant anymore. I need to start living again.”

Sam looked surprised for a moment. Many emotions ran through his eyes, most of which were inscrutable. In the end, a loving smile rested on the redhead’s lips.

“Then you should go to college.”

Grizz knew what he wanted to follow that up with. He wanted to ask Sam to come with him. Get in a car, drive as far as they could. Together. Forever.

But he knew he couldn’t.

All he could do was kiss him today. And not think about tomorrow.

o0o0o

“Was Sam here earlier?” Luke asked as they brushed their teeth that night.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Didn’t know you guys were friends.”

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

“Cool.”

Luke casually went back to brushing, entirely unaware of Grizz’s raw nerves.

o0o0o

The Gelb-Eliot basement was busy that day. Kelly had been around earlier to offer a helping hand. She had just departed; some study date with Gordie, she said.

Now Grizz was taking over. When he was bored, he came over, impromptu, feeling more helpful here than by lazing around the Holbrooks’ living room. Not that he _was_ particularly helpful at the moment, though. Eden was sleeping in the bedroom, while Sam, Becca, and Grizz enjoyed a very wholesome glass of apple juice in the kitchen.

They were chatting, like nothing about this picture was anything other than purely normal. A young mother, the gay father of her child, and his boyfriend, spending time together like a simple trio of friends.

Grizz couldn’t say he had grown particularly close to Becca – even knowing that Sam and she weren’t an item, that Becca knew, that there was no actual hiding going on, he still felt a little reserved around her – but circumstances had at least brought them together as friendly acquaintances. She was a great girl, really. She wasn’t the possessive witch he sometimes wished she was, just because it would at least explain why both Sam and he felt like they had to be so secretive about their relationship. They didn’t really talk about it, it was just one of those unspoken understandings; they had to keep sneaking around. Was it for Grizz’s sake? Their parents’? Becca’s? Eden’s? God knew.

No, Becca was a sweet girl. If only a little roughed up by a long, eight-month-long traumatic episode none of them wanted to talk about anymore.

So they talked about anything else. The weather. The latest gossip at church. Eden’s shenanigans. They were only interrupted by some distant fussing coming from the bedroom. Becca sighed, making to stand, but Sam stopped her.

_Is it Eden?_ he signed.

Becca nodded.

Sam raised a hand to halt Becca’s attempt at taking care of it. _Let me,_ he signed confidently _._ He then left towards the bedroom, leaving Becca and Grizz to their own devices in the kitchen.

Grizz was not often alone in the company of Becca. He wouldn't say it was weird between them, but the same ease wasn’t quite there, compared to when Sam was with them. Grizz nursed his nearly empty glass silently before he noticed Becca staring.

“What?” he asked, worried he had something on his face.

She sighed peacefully. “You look tired,” she commented.

“Yeah. Well so do you.”

“I have a five-month-old baby. What’s your excuse?”

“I came out to my parents. Or… well, they found out, I guess.”

“I heard about that, yeah.”

“Great. I’m glad you know about how my parents saw me naked with a boy. It’s a cool story.”

Becca smiled amusedly. “Well, they had to find out one way or another, no?”

“Another would have been nice.”

“We don’t always pick our lot, do we?”

Grizz took it in, then nodded. “I suppose we don’t.”

Becca took one sip of juice, before lowering the glass with sudden intent. “You know what I don’t get, Grizz?”

“I suppose I’m about to find out?”

“You’re a cool guy, Grizz. People love you. You were a popular jock, but you were also one of the smartest kids in school, and just overall kind and sensible. People have always loved you. So what exactly are you afraid of? Do you think people will suddenly hate you because you’re gay?”

Grizz took a second to respond. “Well you don’t beat around the bush.”

“Again, I have a five-month-old baby. I’m all out of tact.”

“Aren’t you concerned about me being known as your child’s father’s boyfriend?”

She huffed, insulted. “Don’t make this about me. I will _not_ be you lazy excuse.”

He sighed. “Sorry. I guess all fears aren’t always rational.”

She smiled at that. “I guess not.”

In that moment, as the late afternoon light snuck inside from the small window high up on the wall, her dark circles were more evident than before. She looked drained. Grizz supposed that was normal for someone with a baby, but then again, Sam didn’t look quite _that_ tired.

“Are you alright, though?” he asked, genuinely. “You do look tired too.”

She seemed to want to brush it off with a joke, but his demeanor dissuaded her. “I’m fine,” she answered dismissively instead. “Just tired, as you said.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She paused. “I guess I’ve been waiting for the past to stay in the past, and I just keep getting reminded. I suppose it’ll get better with time.”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe.” He straightened in his chair, as if for emphasis. “But you know, you once asked me to take care of Sam. You said you couldn’t do it alone. Is anyone taking care of you, Becca?”

“Sam is.”

“Can he do it alone?”

She hesitated. “There’s Kelly. Helena.”

Grizz seemed satisfied with her answer. “Good.” He finished his glass. “We all deserve people to care for us.”

She seemed unsure, but she nodded nonetheless.

o0o0o

As Grizz was making his way back home to Luke’s, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He didn’t recognize the number, but answered anyway. It was still a novelty to him, to be getting calls from unknown numbers.

“Hello?”

The voice that answered was weird. It was the shaky, uneven voice of a teenage boy trying pathetically hard to deepen his voice, to make it sound unrecognizable like those serial killers in horror movies.

“ _You’ve been weighed in the balance, and found wanting!”_

Admittedly, Grizz did not recognize the voice. But that phrase, he knew it too well. He knew it was neither Clark nor Jason – he would have recognized their voices, no matter how hard they tried – but it had to be coming from them somehow. Grizz knew they’d been gathering minions at some support group, and this had to be one of them.

“Go to hell, alright?” And he hung up.

Much less poetically biblical. He was in no mood for that kind of shit right now. Clark and Jason could go fuck themselves if that so pleased them. He didn’t care about any of that anymore.

They didn’t call again, so there was that.

o0o0o

It had become somewhat of a habit, Luke dropping by his room or Grizz dropping by his. They wouldn’t really talk much, or even do much. They could stay sprawled on the bed for hours, playing video games, watching TV, or reading – as in, Grizz reading and Luke killing time on social media. Grizz supposed they both appreciated the company. Needed it, maybe.

The elected location for the night was Grizz’s room. The guest bedroom, in reality. A week into his stay, Grizz already felt comfortable enough to call it his room. Even if it was only temporary.

Grizz was reading a copy of some thriller novel he had found in the living room. Luke was on his phone. Suddenly, Luke huffed and threw the phone aside. He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling, seemingly sulking. Grizz took the tissue he used as a bookmark and slipped it in-between the pages of his novel.

“What’s up?”

Luke sighed, looking ashamed of himself. “Nothing. Just… Helena stuff.”

“Still not talking?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Grizz adorned a more supportive expression. “Man, New Ham was a different place. We all had tough choices to make.”

“You didn’t make the wrong one, though. I did.”

Grizz sighed. “I can’t say I’ve been an angel either.”

“Weren’t you?” Luke looked at him almost provocatively, as if daring him to disagree with him. “Because it seems like you’ve kept a pretty sound moral compass throughout all this shit.”

Grizz didn’t know how to explain. “I think I broke that compass a long time ago.” It wasn't anything tangible, no event in particular. Grizz just hadn't felt clean in a long, long time.

Luke looked defeated. “Didn’t we all,” he muttered, half-hugging a pillow. It was such an odd image. Luke the revolutionary, Luke the repenting criminal, hugging a feather pillow in his family’s guest bedroom, while his parents watched TV downstairs. Every day, it felt like they were in this strange limbo, stuck between two worlds. Belonging nowhere.

“I think Helena has her own demons to deal with,” Grizz offered. “She may just need time.”

“You didn’t see it… how she looks at me now. Like I’m the worst kind of traitor. And the worst part is, I agree with her.”

Grizz sighed painfully. “Dude, we can’t just dwell on the past. We’re back. Not all of us made it, but we did. If we don't keep moving forward, then it was all for nothing.”

Luke winced as if the words pinched his skin. “I know,” he admitted. “I know all that. It’s just, easier said than done.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though.”

Grizz nodded. He was glad too.

Luke smiled, visibly thinking now was the time to lighten the mood. “Maybe we should try to find you a girlfriend. Get my mind off my own tragic love life, or lack thereof.”

Grizz huffed uncomfortably. Luke didn’t seem to notice the unease. With his eyes closed, his head resting on a pillow while another was still nestled in his arms, he seemed about to drift off to sleep.

There was never a right time for these things, they said. One time or another, Becca had said.

“Luke?”

“Hm?”

“I’m gay.”

Luke’s eyes shot open, and for a second, Grizz felt anxiety burst into his chest. Fight or flight. With a penchant for flight.

In those eyes, however, was nothing more than genuine surprise. “Oh?” Luke frowned in confusion. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. I didn’t know.” He said it as if he’d just been told that a distant relative had just gotten married, or lost their job, or won the lottery. It was this neutral kind of reaction reserved for news that didn’t really affect you, good or bad.

“Most people don’t.”

Luke shifted his position just enough to look at him better. “Is that why you left your house?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Grizz shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Luke seemed to be processing the information. Grizz just hoped he wouldn’t ask something stupid. Like whether he thought he was hot or something. He really didn’t want to talk about that stupid crush he’d had on Luke in middle school.

“You went out with girls,” Luke instead settled on. It was half a question, half an observation.

“It took me a while to stop lying to myself.”

“Huh. I hear that.”

And somehow, Grizz felt that Luke did understand.


	15. Kelly Aldrich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a big chunk of last night playing video games and now my brain is mush.
> 
> Am I fifteen again? What's happening?

_Kelly dropped the slouchy pile of limbs at Allie’s feet. It had a face, no hair, empty eyes. A torso that vaguely looked artificially toned. The skin, even from where they stood, looked rubbery and hard._

_“It’s a mannequin they used for CPR classes in schools and for camp counselor training. The weight isn’t quite right, and obviously the appearance wouldn’t fool anybody, but if you put it in a body bag, I suppose it could be convincing enough. From afar.”_

_Allie looked it over carefully and nodded. “It’ll have to do.”_

_“Great.” Kelly sounded anything but pleased. In truth, she couldn’t wait for Allie and that mannequin to get the hell out of the clinic._

_Allie picked the lump of limbs and stuffed it in a body bag Kelly kindly provided. When everything was packed and ready to go, she stepped closer to Kelly and rested a solicitous hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Kelly.”_

_Kelly shrugged the hand away. “I’m not doing it for you, Allie…” She paused, wondering who she was doing it for, really. “I’m not sure why I’m helping. I guess I just want everything to go back to normal. Or a semblance of it.”_

_“I understand,” Allie answered soberly. “Thank you for your help, nonetheless.”_

_Kelly sighed, arms crossed. “Look, Allie… You have to realize. I’m defending criminals in court while already knowing the outcome; and I’m here, helping you stage a fake execution. I’m doing my part because I think things could get much worse if I don’t, but all of this that you’re asking of me… it’s a lot.”_

_“I know.”_

_“It’s too much. And yet, I’m still mostly in the dark about the whole thing. You’re not telling me who did this, what happened, why I’m doing this, and that’s_ fine _. I suppose I don’t want to know anyway. But Allie, if you’re not going to tell me any more, then this is the last favor you get to ask of me. I am done after this.”_

_Allie assessed her silently, before nodding. “Understood.”_

_Kelly nodded back. “Good.”_

_Solemnly, Allie picked up the dubious package and left._

_o0o0o_

It was nearly two months after the youths’ return that the town officially announced a plan to send their kids back to school.

Seniors would soon be invited to take the last exams they needed to graduate, with optional tutoring sessions in the weeks leading to them. Rumour had it that evaluators would be particularly lenient in grading those exams. Orientation counselors would be made available for youths wishing to apply to colleges. Most admission periods were closed, but some exceptions could be made, with the right recommendation letters and guidance.

As for juniors, they would join a personalized GED program to complete their secondary education at their own pace. Some were already planning to finish in time for winter college admissions. Others were rather aiming for a slower approach, so as to also work and earn money at the same time.

Gordie and Kelly were anxious for their senior exams to be behind them. Pre-exam tutoring hadn’t even started that they had already planned their next Yalescapade, as Gordie liked to call them – to Kelly’s dismay. This time, Gordie suggested booking an Airbnb, so they could use their time more effectively, without worrying about the first and last trains of the day.

They needed to run it by their parents first, of course. Kelly’s argument that they were “basically nineteen” and could make their own decisions did not seem to convince Gordie of the task’s theoretical ease of execution.

“You try telling that to a Latina mom.”

“Gordie, this was your idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not flaking out. I’m just saying.”

As anticipated, Kelly’s non-Latina mom proved easy to convince.

“How fun!” she exclaimed while simultaneously busying herself around the kitchen.

“We’ll try to be back Sunday before dinner,” Kelly added intently, even though she’d already received the green light.

Somehow, she felt she should have had to fight a little bit more for it.

Her mom only raised kind glinting eyes in her direction before going back to what she was doing. “Well, you know the drill: if anything comes up, let me know. Wouldn’t want your poor mom to worry, would you?”

Kelly could sense a certain ingenuity in her mom’s tone. As if she were putting on a brave, unconcerned front, when truly, she was terrified every time Kelly stepped out the door. Kelly knew her mother worried anyway, no matter what she said. She knew, because she worried too. Every time she stepped out of the house, she worried she’d come back to a deserted home. Whenever she left town, passing the West Ham exit sign, she worried the town wouldn’t be there when she returned; that she would be met with an empty field surrounded by abruptly interrupted roads. The whole town gone, with her left behind. Alone.

She tried not to let the thoughts entrap her and keep her from living her life. She could see her mom tried to do the same. She appreciated the effort.

Now that she had the permission she needed, she was ready to change the subject.

“What are you making, mom?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, you know it’s your father’s birthday tomorrow, but he’ll be gone all weekend for work, so I’m hoping we can celebrate as a family tonight. I’m making a cake.”

Right. Her dad’s birthday. She had almost forgotten.

From where she stood, she could already see the red tint of the mixture her mom was working with. Red velvet cake, her dad’s favorite. She couldn’t help the pinch in her chest as she thought, _he doesn’t deserve it._ She felt ashamed for thinking it, she really did. She loved her dad. She had missed him so much. Yet, now that they were reunited, she could only seem to feel bitter and resentful in his presence. She hated that she couldn’t just enjoy what she got back. She was lucky, wasn’t she? Couldn’t just appreciate it?

“Do you want to help?” her mom enquired, subtly snapping Kelly out of her downward spiral of thoughts.

“Sure.”

“Get me the cream cheese in the fridge. We’ll make the frosting.”

Cream cheese frosting. That was Kelly’s favorite, not her dad’s. A little something for the both of them. Always a thought for everyone else, never herself. That was how thoughtful and self-effaced her mom was. Kelly had never bothered to stop and see it until now. As if she needed more shame.

“What’s your favorite sweet, mom?” Kelly asked while opening the fridge’s door to rummage its contents.

“My favorite sweet?” She sounded unsettled by the question,

Kelly found the cream cheese and grabbed it. “Yeah. You’re always cooking what Dad and I like. What do _you_ like?”

Her mom hesitated, before her default smile was instantly reignited on her face. “I like everything that you guys like.”

Kelly huffed in annoyance. “ _Mom_. That’s not how this works. I’m asking you what _you_ like. Not what we like in common.”

“Why, are you thinking of baking me something?”

Kelly huffed even harder. “ _Woah_ now, we both know that no one wants that.”

Her mom tittered with the most genuine smile Kelly had seen her adorn in weeks. “Phew. You had me worried there.”

There was a brief moment of silence as her mom threw generous amounts of butter into a pan to melt. Kelly could tell she was thinking, so she waited.

“You know what,” the woman eventually said, appealing to her daughter’s curiosity with her sudden air of newfound nostalgia. “There was this treat your grandmother always baked when your aunt and I were little. Her own mother had shown her how to make it when she was young. In French Canada, they called it _pet de soeur_.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It means _nun’s fart_.”

“Oh my god.”

“They taste much more refined than their name implies. They’re basically pastry rolls smothered in butter and brown sugar.”

“Sounds like a diabetic’s nightmare.”

“Or a little earthly Heaven minutes before actual Heaven?”

“Dark.”

“I’m sure you’d love them,” Kelly’s mom jokingly chastised her. “We should try to make them someday.”

Kelly was a little taken aback by the offer. Still he smiled, more openly than usual.

“I’d love that.”

o0o0o

“I think I’m a bad person.”

Gordie, lazing around on the carpeted floor of their Airbnb bedroom, expertly threw another Reese’s Pieces into his mouth before responding. Convincing his mom to let him go on a weekend trip to New Haven with a friend she barely knew – a girl, of all things! – had not been an easy affair, but now that he had somehow succeeded and made it through to the other side, he was having a blast. And there was no crazier form of rebellion in his mind than eating dessert for dinner, apparently.

“And why, this time?”

Kelly shrugged, hugging a pillow as she sprawled on one of the beds. “My mom is the most kind-hearted and thoughtful human being on this heart. She doesn’t deserve a husband who cheats on her. And she certainly doesn’t deserve a daughter who helps said husband keep said secret.”

“Is your dad making you keep the secret?”

“He doesn’t even know I know.”

“Then who says you can’t tell your mom?”

She hesitated. “That’s why I’m a bad person.”

Gordie tried for a response but choked on a piece of chocolate he accidentally inhaled. His throat rumbled with a chocolatey cough. Kelly patiently waited for him to regain control of his breathing.

With a raspy voice, he eventually carried on. “Alright. Explain.”

“It was my dad’s birthday this week. My mom made him his favorite cake, and she made my favorite frosting, and it just made me realize how much she’s always cared for us, without either of us really seeing it, or appreciating her for it. That should have been a wake-up call for me. That should have spurred me to tell her the truth.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Interesting.”

“I know. I’m selfish.”

Apparently having already forgotten the previous choking mishap, Gordie slipped three Reese’s Pieces into his mouth all at once. He was more successful this time.

“I don’t think that makes you selfish.” He sounded oddly confident about it.

“Oh no? What else, then? A coward? An idiot?”

Gordie dismissed all of those answers with a shake of the head. “It sounds like you care about your mom’s happiness a lot. And your dad’s. You want your family to stay together. You don’t want to be the one to break it apart. That doesn’t sound like a bad person’s behavior to me.” He got off the floor ungracefully, his legs numb from having sat on them too long, and joined her on the bed. “In fact,” he added, taking a seat next to her, “that sounds like a pretty sensible move on your part, if you ask me.”

He held her gaze as he said so, and she was startled by the intensity of his eyes. She had never noticed how mesmerizingly dark they were. She had never paid attention.

“Plus,” he added yet again, “I don’t think it’s your responsibility to right your dad’s wrongs. It’s his dirty laundry to wash.”

She didn’t know what to say. Somehow, he had said everything she had needed to hear. Gordie did that a lot, actually. Saying the right things. Being there when no one else was. Looking at her like she was the person who mattered the most, right here, right now.

“Thank you,” she whispered hesitantly.

Gordie smiled with a disarming warmth. “You’re welcome.”

She had always thought he looked goofy when he smiled. That toothy smile, punctuated with his upper-lip mole and dimples. That sparkle in his eyes. He had always looked like such an adorable nerd. She had loved that about him. It felt familiar. Friendly. Comfortable.

But as he continued to silently hold her gaze in the dim lighting of a room so colorful and psychedelic that Gordie’s eyes were the only thing to ground her in reality, she didn’t feel comfortable. She couldn’t quite describe it. It resembled how she had felt when Harry and Will had looked at her. An odd mix of thrilling cluelessness and foolish yearning. It felt a bit like that, and yet, it also felt completely different. Because this wasn’t Harry or Will. This was Gordie.

She didn’t stop to think about it; she knew she would reason her way out of it. She rose from the mattress and kissed him.

She could instantly feel him tense up against her, and for a moment, she worried she had read the signs wrong. That he was about to push her away. Yell at her that she was crazy. Maybe she _was_ a bad person, after all, to ruin everything for the both of them like this.

Then, she felt the slightest easing of his figure against her. A hand up came up to rest against her cheek, and he kissed her back. Letting instincts kick in, she buried a hand in his hair and let her weight fall back against the mattress, dragging him down with her. The position seemed to make him uneasy. She wrapped both arms around his torso to bring him closer and fully bathe in his warmth. She expected him to finally let go and melt into her embrace. Instead, he raised his head just high enough to break the kiss.

His eyes were glazed with what she could only identify as raw desire. And yet, there was restraint in his features. He was making an active effort to put on the brakes and slow down.

“Kelly…” he murmured clumsily, sounding almost drunk. “Are you sure?”

She nodded greedily, impatiently. “Yes,” she replied curtly, already diving upward for more.

He retracted his head again, just far enough to be out of reach. “No…” he was frowning, looking more serious than the situation called for. “Kelly, I mean it. Are you sure you want to do this? Kiss me, I mean.” Seeing her muddled look, he sighed. “Do you really want to kiss me? Or are you just sad?”

She couldn’t help feeling insulted. “Do I look like I use people like that?” Could he really think that?

Gordie frowned and shook his head lightly. “No. But it’s happened before.” He looked like he was getting a headache, and Kelly wondered if she felt guilty for it, or annoyed by it. When he stared straight into her eyes, she couldn’t help but listen regardless. “Kelly, I’m a nice guy. I’m good company, and I like to think I’m funny. But mostly, I’m unthreatening. I’m comfortable. Girls, sometimes… they think they like me. Because they’ve been hurt, or they’re confused, and they see me as a safe respite from it all. They don’t actually love me. They just think I’m safe.”

So much was going through Kelly’s mind – a mix of anger, confusion, uncertainty. Seeing her grapple with her words, Gordie drew further away from her, taking his weight off her. Instead, he knelt awkwardly at the foot of the bed, sitting on his feet.

Now that she had space to breathe, she felt cold air rush along her spine. She shivered.

“Kelly,” he exhaled in a pained expression. “You’re _so_ beautiful. And smart. And funny. I would be so lucky. But I don’t want to take advantage of you.” He hesitated. “And I also don’t want to be taken advantage of.”

“Gordie…” She had intended for it to sound firm, confident, maybe with a note of vexation in there for good measure. “I…” She only ended up sounding lost and confused.

She wasn’t sure who was most surprised by her tears. Her, or Gordie. It was like she just exploded. Like it had all been kept inside for days, weeks, maybe months. She supposed it had. It all came out at once. Unable to utter any words, she let the pain rush out of her in overwhelming, uncontrollable waves. She wished she could rein it in, just long enough to apologize, or tell him she was tired and needed a moment. Even that was impossible.

She cried, and when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and hold her, rubbing her back in a caring, soothing gesture, it only made the hiccups uglier and more erratic. She was going crazy. Truth was, she had no idea how she felt. _Was_ she using Gordie? He who had been there for her through it all? He who deserved the world while she most certainly didn’t? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. Nothing made sense. And so she cried, while Gordie held her and repeatedly whispered ‘it’s okay’ until she fell asleep.

The next day, they both acted like nothing had happened. Part of her felt relief.

The other part, she didn’t quite understand.

o0o0o

Kelly was spending less and less time at home. She told herself she was practicing independence. Really, she was running away.

A lot of her time not spent studying was spent at Becca’s. Sometimes Sam was there, sometimes he wasn’t. Sometimes her visits coincided with Helena’s, which made sense, since all three of them had grown inseparable in the wake of political unrest. Like three lost souls in desperate need of comradeship. They were very different – almost from entirely different worlds – and sometimes, it felt as if Becca and Helena shared something that Kelly couldn’t understand. All she had to do then was remind herself that she had literally delivered Becca’s baby, and she knew they also shared something unique and incomprehensible to others. They all served their own purpose in each other’s journey, she supposed.

Other times, her visits coincided with Grizz’s. That made less sense to her. But she supposed she wasn’t one to judge anyone’s associations anymore.

Today, Becca and she were alone. Eden was sleeping quietly in the bedroom. Becca had said something about Sam being out – no more details. Kelly hadn’t bothered asking. Of more interest, Becca looked particularly distant, distracted. Kelly asked about that, but only received the usual ‘I’m just tired’ response. Becca being distracted was certainly nothing new, but today, Kelly caught her more than once surreptitiously looking at her, almost assessing her, when she wasn’t looking. Until she did and caught her, that was. Eventually, Kelly decided she had been patient enough.

“Alright Becca, what’s wrong?”

Her innocent expression was almost convincing. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Kelly tilted her head in that no-nonsense look she had mastered over the course of her brief makeshift medical career. _Oh really, that knife lodged itself in your arm by itself? Oh, you have no idea how you could be displaying all the symptoms of recent drug use; is that so? You’re telling me you_ absolutely _have the stomach flu, and there’s_ no way _you’re actually hungover? How convincing._

“Becca,” she uttered firmly, in a soft warning. “I have literally seen your vagina dilated, inches away from my face, as I delivered your baby. Don’t you think we’re past the point of being reserved? You can tell me stuff. You should know that.”

Hesitantly, Becca internally weighed her options. Knowing her, she was probably going over the pros and cons of each alternative – telling or not telling. That list was quite long, if the duration of her hesitation was anything to go by. In the end, the pros of the ‘telling’ option apparently won, to Kelly’s delight.

She was, of course, only delighted until Becca actually spoke out.

“Sam’s not Eden’s dad.”

She practically blurted it out. As if the confession had been burning the tip of her tongue for months, just waiting for that one opportunity to jump out into the open.

Kelly was stunned. “Wait, what?” She somehow managed to simultaneously yell and whisper at the same time. She almost instinctively glanced to the door, as if expecting Sam to suddenly barge in with an outraged, betrayed look on his face. She internally chastised herself for her lack of composure. She had just convinced Becca to open up to her, now was not the time to mess that up. “Sorry,” she mustered more calmly.

Becca smiled regretfully. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be surprised. It definitely falls into the ‘surprise-inducing’ kind of revelation.”

Kelly was still processing when she replied. “Wait, so Sam doesn’t know?”

Becca’s face immediately switched to a scandalized expression. “No! I mean, yes, he knows. Gosh, no, he knows. He just… I was alone in this, and he promised to be there for me. And Eden. So we’re raising her together.”

Kelly nodded, relieved. “Well, good.” She chuckled. “I’m glad to know you didn’t sleep with your gay best friend. That was so cliché of you.”

A smile tugged at Becca’s lips. Too proud to give in right away, she tried to suppress it. “Of course that’s what you’d focus on.”

Kelly was both relieved and happy that Becca had shared something of this magnitude to her, it had to be a good sign. Her curiosity, however, was far from satiated. She hoped she wasn’t pushing it too far with her questions, but she couldn’t help it. “So who’s the real dad?”

Becca’s expression darkened instantly. Her tone was even, controlled, but weirdly cold. “I can’t answer that question. Not even Sam knows that. No one does.”

Kelly hesitated, unwittingly frowning. “Why?”

Becca was now definitely closed off. The moment was over. “I’m not saying. Please don’t ask.”

“Okay.”

And that was the end of the conversation.

o0o0o

When Kelly got home, her dad was out. She could hear her mom getting ready for bed upstairs. She had lost track of time chatting with Becca all night. She had only looked at her phone when Becca had started dozing off on the couch. By then, Sam was home and needed his bed back. It was way past eleven.

It was thus disconcerting to hear the phone ring at such an hour. She heard her mother’s footsteps scramble upstairs, and she shouted in the stairway that she would take care of it.

“Hello?” she answered into the living room’s cordless phone, expecting a wrong number situation. Their landline was barely ever used these days.

The voice on the other end evoked an odd sensation. She thought she had heard it before, but couldn’t quite place it. It was male, young, and it sounded nervous. Like someone who hardly ever spoke on the phone at all.

“Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment.”

Kelly frowned, confused. The caller, without a single greeting, had started reciting something that sounded like it came straight out of the bible. The voice was mechanical, seemingly reading a text. Maybe he _was_ reading from the bible. Or more likely, from a website quoting the bible. This person didn't sound like he was any older than his early twenties; but more accurately, he sounded her age.

“For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear for the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger –”

“Excuse me, what’s this?” Kelly tried interrupting.

The other continued, unwavering. “ – who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore one must be in subjection, not only to avoid God’s wrath, but also for the sake of – ”

Kelly hung up.

Stupid prank callers.


	16. Sam Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Grizz are my favourite thing about The Society.
> 
> Just thought I'd mention it. In case you couldn't tell.

_The details were fuzzy. It had to have been an accumulation of the little things._

_There was that time Sam and Becca brought Eden to a town meeting, and a sea of girls instantly rushed to their side, like magnets to a fridge, or vegans to homemade hummus. It was rapidly overwhelming, and Sam had to take a step back – so he could better read lips, but so he could breathe as well. He barely caught anything that was said. Erika rambled about Eden looking just like her mother. Gwen said something about her eyes. Gretchen, something about her toes. Sam could see Becca growing tired by the second, and he eventually came to her rescue, resting an arm on her shoulders and explaining that they had to go take a seat; the meeting was about to start._

_Madison looked at him like he was Prince Charming. “I have to say, I thought it was weird at first, but you two actually make a really cute couple.” Erika slapped her on the arm, silently yet intently communicating with her via outraged eyes. “What? What did I say?”_

_Sam and Becca smiled by default, feeling too inarticulate to respond. It was only as they made their way to the front row that Sam noticed Grizz staring._

_Then, there was that time Allie made a joke during one of their unofficial house meetings where they discussed town affairs for the simple reason that they didn’t know how to disconnect and let go. There had been a sudden wave of broken hearts scouring the town – long-term couples finally breaking under the pressure, new romances that were never meant to last, and toxic pairings getting together for obvious self-destructive purposes. Allie commented that, in the end, Sam and Becca would outlive them all, wouldn’t they? Everyone laughed it off. Sam and Becca smiled half-heartedly. Grizz didn’t._

_Sam supposed he should have expected it. He couldn’t have known when, but it was meant to come - the day he would try to sneak kisses down Grizz’s neck when no one was looking, and Grizz would just push him away._

_“I am tired, Sam.”_

_“Okay,” Sam naïvely smiled. “We can go take a nap if you want.”_

_He tried to go for a kiss. He was denied._

_“You don’t understand, Sam. I am tired of this. Of hiding. Of pretending. I thought I could deal, but I guess I can’t.”_

_Sam stared back, speechless. Was he understanding this right? Was he reading Grizz’s lips correctly?_

_Grizz’s somber expression was painfully unambiguous. “I’m sorry.”_

_And he left the room. It took Sam a long few minutes to grasp what had just happened._

o0o0o

Sam had always found new parents annoying.

Sure, babies were cute. Sam admitted it, he was known to be a typical _girl_ whenever a baby was around. Even as a young boy he would instinctively flock towards miniature humans, alongside oo-ing and aw-ing women gawking at their cute little everything. Still, he always told himself that, if he ever became a parent, he wouldn’t become one of _those_ who couldn’t ever shut up about their baby. He would remain balanced and sane, and act normal around other people, if only a little tired. He wouldn’t become grossly obsessed. Certainly not.

How naïve of him, he now realized. There he was with Becca, staring at a sleeping Eden like at an oyster about to crack open and reveal the most invaluable pearl. He wasn’t sure how long they had been staring. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Like the self-fulfilling prophecy it was always meant to be, they had fallen head over heels with their baby, and he wasn’t even ashamed of it. Sam tried very hard to keep Eden off social media – he didn’t want her entire existence to be recorded on the internet before she was old enough to understand what that meant – but the burning need to share her preciousness to the whole world was so much harder to fight off than anticipated.

Sam took a picture with his phone, and when Becca raised a judgmental eyebrow in his direction, he justified himself by signing _What? It’s for my mom._

She nodded with an amused smile. Then, her expression grew more serious. _How is your mom?_

The Eliots had not visited since the last Saturday brunch fiasco. Sam had spoken to his mom a few times since, but they hadn’t discussed the incident. And no one had apologized.

_She’s fine. She’s being polite. I’m not sure she’s sorry, though. She may still think we’re the ones that misbehaved and she’s a good person for talking to me still._

Becca huffed. _Of course._

They returned to observing Eden for a while. They were quiet until Becca raised her head again. She nudged him to draw his attention back to her.

_Did you ever tell your parents that we were together? Or, I don’t know, imply it?_

Sam frowned. _No._ And then he frowned even deeper. _Although, I guess I could tell they were thinking it. I can’t say I went out of my way to deny it._

Becca bit her lip with what looked like guilt. _I guess I’ve been doing the same thing with my parents. Which is to say, nothing._

There was a heavy pause before Becca resumed. _Sam, you know you’re not bound by any kind of nondisclosure agreement, right? I mean, I get that I can be contradictory sometimes, but you get to live your life. I hope you know that._

Sam looked irritated, which wasn’t the reaction she had anticipated. _Is this one more of your ‘I give you a free pass’ speeches? Because I’m done with those. You need to stop acting like I’m doing you a favor, and realize that my name is on the birth certificate now. It’s too late, I’m her father. You’re stuck with me, deal with it.”_

Becca couldn’t help the nervous giggle that escaped her lips. _Alright, alright. I hear you._

Still she felt the need to insist one last time. For good measure. _I mean it, though. You’re allowed to have a life. Don’t let my craziness of the last months make you feel trapped. What you owe me is to be here for Eden. But you don’t owe me to play the role of the perfect little husband in front of everybody else._

Sam nodded soberly. _I know._ He laid a hand on her arm. _And you weren’t crazy._

_I was at least a little crazy._

_Okay maybe a little._

_Ass, you were supposed to disagree._

He kissed her cheek and she rolled her eyes again.

There were good days. There were bad days. They had to appreciate the good ones.

o0o0o

_It took two days for Grizz to break and come back._

_A fight broke out in town. Grizz was there in time to intervene. It got ugly. Grizz saw the knife later than he wished he had. He was lucky to come out of it with mostly minor scratches. Only one gash required stitches. Luckily for Gordie, there were those sticky kinds of stitches at the clinic, which didn’t require any actual sowing._

_The reason for the fight was unsettling to hear, after the fact. An ex-supporter of Harry had been getting bullied for a little over two months, ever since the trial. Every day, a living hell. And the guy just took it, in silence, for weeks on end. Until something snapped, and he couldn’t take it anymore._ _There were talks of arresting him. Allie asked Grizz what he thought; he said she should let him go. There had been enough tragedy as it was, he insisted. No one had gotten seriously hurt in the end. She took his advice, and let the guy go. He would have to attend weekly sessions with Helena, who would serve as his kind-of-therapist seeing as they didn’t have the real deal. It would have to do._

_That night, Sam received a text from Grizz. Minutes later, he has snuggled up in his warmth again, where everything felt right again._

_Except, things weren’t perfect at all. Sam had spent two days obsessing over everything he had done, said, or thought wrong. He had mulled over all the ways he could still lose Grizz. Even now that he was back in the other’s arms, he couldn't sleep at all._

_“Grizz,” Sam whispered in the dim lighting of the room. “Becca and I aren’t together. She even knows about us. You realize that, don’t you?”_

_Sam hated that he sounded pleading. A part of him felt – no, knew – that he wasn’t being fair to Grizz. That he had no right to plead with him like that. And yet, he couldn’t imagine not having him by his side like this at night. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t do it._

_Grizz sighed. He didn’t look angry anymore. He just looked… sad. Defeated. The lighting was just enough for Sam to read his lips. “I know. I just… it’s hard. Sometimes, it’s suffocating.”_

_That word made Sam feel an unpleasant burning sensation inside his chest._

_Grizz went on. “Today, when that guy waved a knife at me and hit my arm, the only thing I could think about was you. When I’m with you, I feel like I can’t breathe, but when I’m not with you, I feel like I’m already dead.”_

_Sam fought back a tear. He couldn’t cry. He didn’t get to. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Yeah. Me too.”_

_And Grizz held Sam in his arms until they both eventually surreptitiously slipped into fitful sleep._

o0o0o

It was past eleven at night when Sam texted Grizz to let him know he was at the door. He was unsettled when Luke opened the door.

“Hi,” Sam uttered awkwardly. The weirdness he was experiencing was the very reason he always texted Grizz instead of ringing the doorbell, even though no one in that house had a hearing problem to justify it. Had Grizz asked Luke to answer the door for him? Did Grizz not want to talk to him? The questions spiraled in Sam too fast and he felt instantly overwhelmed.

Then Grizz appeared behind Luke, smiling. “I got it,” he told Luke as he casually clapped his back.

Luke hesitated, and Sam could swear he saw his pupils zero in on him, as if assessing him intently, before he shook his head tiredly and walked back inside without a word.

It was just Grizz and Sam on the porch now.

“Hey,” Grizz said. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It wasn’t planned. Can I come in?”

Grizz looked like he wanted to ask why, but abstained. Instead, he led Sam inside the house and up to his room.

Once the door was closed, Sam started talking. He was afraid it would all come out in an unglorified rendition of word-vomit, but none of his rehearsals in his head had been particularly brilliant anyway. “I haven’t been sleeping well these past few days.”

“Oh,” Grizz uttered, adopting a concerned countenance. “How come?”

“I’ve been thinking about you. About us. And what you said about going to college.”

Grizz frowned as he bit his lip unconsciously. He grabbed Sam’s hand in what he intended as a reassuring gesture. “It’s not decided yet.”

Sam shook his head. Damn Grizz for being so attentive and caring. It didn't help here. “No, I’m not saying I don’t want you to go. It's the opposite. I want you to go.”

“Oh?”

“No, I mean…” Sam sighed exasperatedly. “Am I holding you back, Grizz?”

Grizz hesitated, clearly not following. “What do you mean?”

“Our relationship hasn’t been the simplest, Grizz. And if it’s been complicated, that’s mainly been my fault. You’ve tried leaving before. And the more I think about it, the more I wonder if you didn’t make the wrong move in coming back to me.”

“Sam… don’t say that.”

“I just need to ask you, Grizz. Am I selfish in keeping you by my side? Should I… set you free?”

Grizz was at a loss for words, and Sam was terrified about the implications.

“Sam… I love you,” was what Grizz eventually formulated. 

“I love you too. But is that enough?”

“It’s enough for me. Is it for you?”

Sam hesitated. He wanted to yell in the affirmative, but he had to be sure. “I can’t imagine living without you, as cheesy as that sounds. But I’m just… so scared that I’m making you miserable.”

Grizz shook his head and wrapped both of his arms around Sam’s shoulders. He kept just enough distance between them for Sam to read his lips. “You don’t make me miserable, Sam. New Ham made me miserable. Politics made me miserable. Power plays and picking sides made me miserable. But you, you were one of the only things that kept me sane through it all.”

Sam smiled hesitantly. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.” Grizz bit his lip again, but this time, he didn’t look quite so nervous. “Look, Sam, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know how this is going to go. I don’t know where we’ll be in one year, two years… But I love you right now. And right now, that’s enough.”

Sam smiled, less hesitantly this time. He hoisted himself on his toes and kissed Grizz gently.

Grizz kissed back. His lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. And then he drew back to look him in the eyes.

“Dance with me?”

Sam almost missed the question, having focused on Grizz’s eyes more than his lips. He tilted his head in confusion, sure he'd read that wrong. _What?_ he worded.

Grizz’s giddy smile was a sight for a lifetime. The taller boy stepped back and walked over to a small nightstand in the corner, on which stood an ancient-looking device Sam had only ever seen in old-timey movies.

“It’s a gramophone!” Grizz exclaimed proudly.

Sam's addled brain was thrown off, both by the sudden turn in the conversation and by his prior assumption that gramophones no longer existed. “Where did you even find that?”

“So, it came up over dinner that Luke’s dad is a music connoisseur of some sort. I may or may not have geeked out with him until Luke was grossed out. Long story short, his dad is also an antique collector, and he showed me this. He said I could use it while I’m here, since I was so impressed. He says no one in his family truly appreciates it in the way it deserves.”

Sam found Grizz’s glee infinitely amusing, and especially endearing. “Wouldn’t that be very expensive?” he asked carefully, hoping he wasn’t ruining the moment.

Grizz rolled his eyes sheepishly. “Okay, maybe it’s not _really_ authentic. It’s just a record player designed to look like an early 1900s gramophone.”

“Does it even work?” Sam asked, still doubtful.

Grizz raised both eyebrows suggestively. “Only one way to find out.”

Sam watched attentively as Grizz picked a vinyl from the pile next to the surreal-looking device, slipped it out of its cardboard jacket, and delicately laid it in place on the turntable. He supposed the music had started playing when he saw Grizz bop his head to an imperceptible rhythm. There wasn’t much of a discernible beat to the song, nothing that Sam could really feel, but when Grizz seized his hand in an unspoken invitation, he didn’t see how he could refuse. He let Grizz raise their joined hands to shoulder height, while Grizz's other hand slipped around his waist, to the small of his back. Sam let him lead him on an invisible dancefloor, to a tune that only Grizz could hear, and which he still managed to make him experience.

For a moment, as he breathed in the smell of Grizz’s shampoo and blindly followed his lead, he felt untouchable. Nothing else mattered.

He loved Grizz. And that was enough.


	17. Helena Wu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped a day, I'm sorry. I had a migraine yesterday. And now my age is showing.

_Helena would remember the blood most vividly. There was so much of it. On the carpet, on the armchairs, on clothes. Especially around the body, where a pool of it seemed to ominously expand by the second, even as it logically couldn’t anymore. Campbell was long dead._

_For a moment, Helena lost touch with the reality around her. Her vision swayed, and she wondered if that was what it felt like to lose consciousness._

_But no. She couldn’t faint. Not right now. Not tonight. They had a rebellion to lead. Everyone was waiting. There was no time._

_As she scanned the room with eery calm – maybe it was shock, she thought, maybe she would irreparably break later, when it was all over and she was sorely alone – it felt like trying to pierce through thick, heavy fog with wearied eyes. Then said eyes landed on a shaking pale figure, hovering like a ghost in the corner, staring white-faced at the scene in pure disbelief. How long she had been like this, Helena couldn’t tell. Instantly she regained focus, like a thousand invisible needles prickling her skin all at once. She was back in the moment._

_She closed the gap between the two of them and grabbed the shivering girl by the arm._

_“Elle.” Her own voice was weak, but when she earned no response, she channeled enough confidence to snap the other out of her trance. “Elle!”_

_Frightened blue eyes met hers._

_“Elle, listen to me. This is fucked up. I know. But I need you, right now._ We _need you. You understand? I need you to be strong, and do what we planned. You remember the plan? The town meeting? What you have to say? The others are waiting.”_

_Elle was unresponsive, and still shivering uncontrollably. Helena prayed to God that Elle would get a hold of herself, that she wasn’t too deep into shock to do this. If they couldn’t go through with the plan, if it failed, then she feared for them all._

_“Elle! Are you listening?” She shook the poor girl, in a last effort to coerce her back to reality. It seemed to work. “We need Allie. Allie will fix this. But for that, we need you, Elle. We need you, so we can get Allie released, and then she can help us. Okay?”_

_There was silence. She shook the other girl again._

_“Elle. Do you understand?”_

_She received the slightest of nods._

_It would have to do. Helena sighed in half-hearted relief._

_“Alright. Let’s get you changed.”_

o0o0o

The small movie theater in West Ham was no extravagant affair, but it sure beat the scrappy movie nights they’d thrown together in New Ham. Plus, it was an excuse to get out of the house.

Those nights out with Becca and Kelly were becoming regular. A year ago, she would never have thought these two would become her closest friends. There were a lot of things she wouldn’t have predicted correctly then.

Kelly, she could have envisioned. They had already gravitated within similar social circles, with both of their boyfriends being members of the high school elite. Or, well, their ex-boyfriends. Becca, she never really noticed before. Not before New Ham. Helena had always seen herself as virtuous and genuinely kind, but now, in hindsight, she realized she had been superficial and blind. New Ham had changed them. The emergence of new friendships was certainly not the worst thing to come out of this whole mess.

It was late when she got home that night. As she neared the house, she could see that all the lights were off. Everyone was asleep, which wasn’t surprising. Her family had always comprised upstanding citizens who followed the rules, gave out a helping hand whenever needed, ate healthy and went to bed early and all that jazz. She had always felt like she belonged before. Not so much anymore. Although she worked hard to pretend.

She was stepping onto the grass of her yard when she noticed that something was wrong. Very wrong.

There was writing on the wall, right next to the front door. It was massive, ostentatious, completely out of place. One big, messy word, painted hastily and crassly, in giant dripping letters.

_MURDERER_

The letters were scarlet red, dark and sinister in the night. Helena knew, _knew_ it was red paint, _just_ red paint, yet the semblance of blood triggered weakness in her limbs and churning in her stomach.

Her first instinct was to panic, but she was quick to reason, as she always was. This was Clark’s gang. They’d been getting up to no good lately, making prank calls on Allie's past associates, clearly using them as tools to intimidate Allie herself. Apparently, they had decided to up their game, from prank calls to vandalism.

_Murderer._ She heard the word echo against the walls of her brain. This was nothing new. According to guards who had watched over Clark and Jason, the word had been commonly used to vilify Allie and her council. They referred to Campbell’s execution, and even Dewey’s while they were at it. Never mind that Jason had partaken in the latter.

This was just pettiness. Just pettiness. It meant nothing.

She gathered her strength and rushed inside, mindful not to glance at the letters as she frantically unlocked the front door. Even without looking, she could sense the weight of their existence, calling to her attention; she could see them, smell them, and even taste them. They suffocated her, out in the open night air. She only felt relief when she finally closed the door behind her and locked it.

She texted Allie first, to warn her. Eventually, the boys would move on to their main target, and who knew what they would think of next. Then, with a shaky hand, she wrote out a text she had been thinking of for weeks, always deleting it before pressing send.

_Elle, are you okay out there?_

Her thumb hovered over the send button. This time, she pressed it.

She received a quick response from Allie, thanking her, asking if she was okay. She received nothing from Elle.

She went to bed, knowing full well that she wouldn’t sleep.

o0o0o

Chief Holbrook took her deposition the next morning. There wasn’t much to say. Helena had her suspicions, but no one had seen it happen, there was no evidence to validate any finger-pointing. The chief noted down what she knew meticulously, and when there was nothing more to add, he thanked her for her time.

He didn’t make to leave right away, though. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Like a challenge.

“Why ‘murderer’?” he asked the question carefully, like someone doubting whether they really want an answer.

Helena smiled with neither joy nor amusement. It was the smile of an exhausted young woman, struggling to stay hopeful amidst chaos. In some ways, she didn’t care much about the police's interpretation of her words anymore.

“I didn’t kill anyone, Chief. But let’s just say my ticket to Heaven is not a done deal.”

The chief took it oddly well. His smile, at least, looked more amused than hers.

Or maybe it was sardonic. She couldn’t quite tell.

“Not a big believer in Heaven myself, Helena.”

And on those words, he took his leave. The kitchen was overwhelmingly silent after that, even as her parents' chatter with the chief resonated softly from the next room.

o0o0o

It was still weird, sometimes, to be at the store and to see it completely stocked. Every week, delivery trucks came and went. They had never stopped coming. _They,_ the kids, the youths, just hadn’t been there to see it happen.

The cereal aisle was not only stocked, but all the boxes had been perfectly aligned by a careful employee. The artificial light reflected on box after box, surreal, patiently awaiting the destructively mindless hands of browsing customers.

Helena must have stood there for longer than what passed as normal. She only realized it when an uncomfortable cough drew her out of her reverie.

The eyes that met hers as she turned were all too familiar. Luke smiled shyly. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She showed no sign that this was a pleasant encounter, but she also skipped the angry front this time.

She hadn’t felt angry at Luke in months now. She felt disappointed. Maybe a little betrayed, still. But not angry. Truth was, she was keeping him at bay for entirely different reasons, which had nothing to do with him, and all to do with her own self. Either way, there was no point in being spiteful just for the sake of it.

Luke looked hesitant, unsure whether he could initiate small talk without committing any major _faux pas_. Neither of them was particularly well-read on matters of exes.

“How are you?” he finally settled on.

“Fine.”

He nodded, painfully aware that she hadn’t returned the question. “Good. That’s good.” He paused. “I saw what they did to your house. That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah. Some people find it hard to move on, apparently.”

Luke winced almost imperceptibly, probably wondering if that was some jab at his own faulty associations. To be honest, Helena wasn’t sure either.

There was a long pause, before Luke finally chose to put them out of their misery. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“Yes, you too.”

And he left her to her cereal shopping.

o0o0o

Allie looked about as tired as Helena supposed she herself looked. It was ironic, really, how they had spent months dreaming of home, idealizing it, only to finally return and experience it as an endless pit of insomnia.

There were two mugs of coffee on the table. One which Allie was nursing with tense fingers, and another Helena supposed was for her. She sat down.

“Well you look terrible,” she said, taking a sip of her lukewarm coffee.

“Thanks. I’m trying this new beauty trick. It’s called not brushing your hair for three days straight. Really gives it volume.” Allie readjusted the cap on her head for emphasis.

“Huh. I’ll have to give it a try.” Helena's hair hung around her face, limp and lifeless. She hadn't showered in three days, and she was certain it showed.

The coffee shop was quiet at this time. Two students were aggressively typing away at their respective laptops a few tables away. An elderly couple was reading the newspaper in a corner. No one paid any attention to the two exhausted girls with dark circles.

Allie stirred the already dissolved sugar in her mug and raised inquisitive eyes towards Helena.

“Have you heard from Elle?”

“No. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

Allie nodded slowly. “Good for her.”

Helena silently agreed. Good for her. They all wished they could disappear, she supposed. None of them deserved it as much as Elle, though.

Helena was worried for other reasons. “Have Clark and Jason tried anything on you?”

Allie scoffed, looking weirdly amused. “No. They’ve only been bullying my allies, like the cowards they are. I’m starting to think it won’t go any further.”

“What if it does?”

Allie shrugged. “There’s not much I can do but wait and see.”

That didn’t sound like the Allie she knew. That Allie wouldn’t just wait for bad things to happen. She would anticipate. She would plan things out. And most importantly, she would clap back.

“It’s not just prank calls, anymore,” Helena reminded her, like a warning.

Allie nodded. “I know. I’m sorry about your house, by the way.”

Now, it was Helena’s turn to shrug. “It was easily painted over. It just sucks for my family. They really don’t deserve this right now.”

Who did, really?

“No, they don’t…” The words hung in the air, along with so much else that went unsaid.

With every passing day, Helena felt a little closer to breaking down, and she could see that Allie no longer looked quite so solid as before. There was so much they wanted to say, scream even, but couldn't. Not in public. Still, if anyone could understand what Helena was going through, it was Allie.

“Sometimes,” Helena admitted in a shaky voice, “I feel like it won’t ever go away. It’ll always haunt us.”

“It won’t,” Allie assured her. “And if it does, we’ll get the hell out of here.”

Helena smiled unconvincingly. “I’m not even sure that would help. We could make new friends, go to new schools, move to another city entirely, where no one knows what happened. But we will. We’ll always know.”

Allie straightened up in her chair, and looked at her pointedly. “You’re not responsible for what happened, Helena.”

“I gave Elle a gun.”

“Much good that did her. She didn’t use it.”

“What I did…”

“No. What _we_ did, Helena. We did what we had to do. We did the right thing.”

“Did we?”

“Yes.” And at that moment, Helena saw the Allie that led them to stability and survival, the one that could handle criticism and questioning with an iron fist. “Yes, we did.”

Helena could not argue.

o0o0o

The church was empty when she walked in. She used to have alone time in here all the time, back in New Ham. She had grown fond of the echoing silence, an odd source of comfort in an otherwise deafeningly chaotic world. Now, finding the church empty was a rarity. It was weird, how this had become _her_ church at some point. And now, it wasn’t.

It was empty now, though. Quietly in spite of the lack of people to disturb, she made her way to the front row, sat down, and basked in the consoling silence.

For a moment, she pushed the concerns out of her mind. Memories of New Ham, of this exact – yet not quite the same – church tried to pierce through, she pushed them away. She felt her phone vibrate against her waist – probably her mother, asking her for an errand on her way back – she ignored it. She would read it later. Right now, for a moment, she just wanted to listen to the nothingness.

When she heard footsteps, her first instinct was to tense up. The fight or flight response was still hard to tune out, after all this time. She turned her head just in time to be met with Father Alvaro’s smile.

“Hello, Helena. Nice day out, isn’t it?” His voice was deep and mellow, as always. He hadn’t changed one bit in her time away. It still felt so strange, how some things didn’t change, hadn’t changed at all, when she had so completely.

She smiled as sincerely as she could bring herself to. “Yes, Father.”

“How are your parents?”

“Very well.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Tell your mother I say hi.”

“Will do.”

Father Alvaro maintained his smile as he observed – assessed – her demeanor. Her lack of sleep – and maybe also the absolute muddling of her own moral compass – must have shown on her face, because he failed to simply walk away, as he normally would have. She supposed she looked like a lost soul, dejected, left to fare for herself out in the wild. Maybe that was exactly what she was.

“Do you mind?” Father Alvaro asked, pointing as the spot next to hers on the bench.

Hesitantly, she agreed. “Sure.”

Father Alvaro took a seat and slowly breathed out, so calm and composed that Helena wished she could go back to the days when she, too, had felt like that.

“I don’t mean to pry, Helena. But is anything troubling you?”

She smiled, and she thought she looked pretty convincing at it. “Not any more than you would expect in the circumstances.”

He nodded understandingly. “I suppose you _have_ been through much more than the typical teenager your age.”

At nineteen years old, Helena wondered if she even saw herself as a teenager anymore. She couldn’t drink yet, but she could vote, get married, enlist for the military. She could be tried as an adult in court. Most notably, she had led a political revolution. Served as an attorney in a trial. Offered Mass every week for months, even after she had committed unspeakable wrongs.

“Do you think God challenges some people more than others, Father?” she asked, having reached a point way beyond caring about risks of blasphemy.

The priest raised an intrigued eyebrow, but made no dismissive comment. He did not query as to why she asked. He rather seemed to consider her question, to ponder it carefully, and to search for a genuine answer.

“The Lord tests the righteous and the wicked, and the one who loves violence His soul hates.”

She recognized his words as a passage from a Psalm. Moralistic stories of the church had once helped her stay strong in the face of challenges. Now it felt painfully insufficient.

“So the Lord tests everyone equally?”

Father Alvaro tilted his head from side to side, as if for her to better visualize the nuance. “Not everyone, no. It would be naïve to assume we all suffer equally. Some individuals earn an easier path through life. Some individuals earn more opportunities to prove their strength.”

“Or prove their wickedness.”

He hesitated. “In some cases, yes.”

“There is a passage from Ecclesiastes, Father. ‘God has surely tested them in order for them to see that they are but beasts.’ Do you believe that to be true?”

“Well, it depends on how you interpret it. Like any literature, the Bible cannot be taken out of context. One single excerpt can invoke drastically opposed interpretations in different individuals.”

“And how do _you_ interpret it, Father?”

Father Alvaro calmly stole a glance towards the cross on the wall, before redirecting his gaze to Helena.

“I think you probably assume the word ‘beast’ to refer to vile things. Evil. Monsters. And I think you are incorrect. I believe ‘beasts’ here merely refers to animals. In a sense, we are animals as any other. What makes us different from animals, I would argue, is our mind, and our morals. We all start out as animals, but throughout our lifetime, we get to prove ourselves as more than beasts. Or at the very least, more sophisticated ones. With better morals.”

He smiled on those last words, and Helena followed suit.

“So we start out as equals?”

“I believe so. We aren’t all born into equal opportunities and realities, but that’s not a reflection of our core self. Inequality, like society and its unjust systems, is man-made. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess so.”

There was a long pause. Helena still did not feel satisfied. Maybe the priest could see it. He waited patiently as she mustered her next question.

“What happens when we fail? Are we doomed to be beasts?”

“That, my child, is why Jesus teaches us about forgiveness. We are imperfect beings. We make mistakes. We sin. But sin is not the last stop along the way.”

“How much is God willing to forgive? How much is too much?”

For half a second, Father Alvaro pondered the question himself. “It depends. How much are _you_ willing to forgive yourself?”

And if that wasn’t the million-dollar question.

How much of what she had done could she forgive herself?

_Could_ she forgive herself?

She didn’t think she had an answer for that.


	18. Lexie Pemberton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long story short, there was a flood, we were evacuated, and now my access to the internet is iffy until it all goes back to normal.
> 
> You can't make that shit up.

_Lexie was on her way back from her shift at the cafeteria, arms filled with cookbooks, all crammed with unevenly distributed post-its. Will had asked her to go make photocopies at the library. He hadn’t asked nicely, but she had nonetheless agreed, because she knew she couldn’t afford not to. This was her life for the foreseeable future: passively going through the motions, with her head hung low, hoping to go unnoticed._

_It may be for that very reason that she failed to see where she was going. She tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, rendered slippery by the light sheet of snow that covered it. In a matter of seconds, she was on her face on the ground, cookbooks all over the side of the road. The sharp pain in her knee told her she had most likely scraped it through her jeans. Already, she could feel cold, wet snow seeping through the denim._

_There were people around. Nowhere near, but around. No one stopped to help. No one, besides a pair of small-sized black boots with sophisticated silver links. Lexie raised her head and saw Elle looking down at her with a neutral demeanor._

_“Are you okay?” Elle asked meekly, and her voice, albeit soft and shy, sounded much more alive than her frigid exterior implied, Lexie thought. More human, at least._

_“Uh, yeah. I just fell.” Obviously. Lexie felt silly any time she opened her mouth, these days._

_Apparently unfazed by the self-evidence, Elle silently crouched to help Lexie gather her books. She then helped her back on her feet and led her to the nearest park bench. Sitting down, Lexie noted that her knee was indeed bleeding, albeit not uncontrollably so. Elle extracted a crumpled but clean-looking tissue from her pocket and handed it to her._

_“Thank you,” was all Lexie could say to the only person who seemed to care at all._

_I_ _ronic, that it should be the individual most severely affected by her bad choices of late._ _Elle shrugged, seemingly more interested in Lexie’s knee than in her thanks._

_“And sorry,” Lexie added impulsively. It made sense to say it in the moment. With the other barely ever leaving her house anymore, she wasn’t sure she would get another opportunity to express her regrets, regardless of whether it came off as inappropriate._

_Elle’s eyes flitted to Lexie’s, and no hint of surprise shone in those raw blue irises. Presumably, she had been on the receiving end of more pity and misplaced apologies than she cared to hear. Lexie supposed it was_ _a little selfish of her too, to burden Elle with the weight of her own regrets._

_“It’s fine,” was all Elle replied, before returning her attention to Lexie’s knee. Clearly, that knee did not deserve that much scrutiny. In the end, weren't they both trying to just get through the motions of this fraught, unpredictable world without drawing too much attention to themselves?_

_“It’s not fine,” Lexie felt the need to insist. She let a self-deprecatory scoff escape her own lips. “But that doesn’t have to be your problem anymore, thankfully.” On those words, she smiled as genuinely as she could. “As you can see, I am being punished for my sins.”_

_Elle did not smile back. For a moment, she blinked innocuously, blandly even, before finally responding._

_When she spoke, it sounded as if she were having an entirely different conversation, with someone else, in a different time and place. “There’s this quote from a play. ‘I don’t think God punishes people for specific things. I think he punishes them in general, for no reason.’”_

_Lexie had no idea how to respond to that. “Okay?”_

_“I like to think that God is just petty, sometimes.”_

_Lexie frowned. “Really?” That didn’t sound like a particularly hopeful aspiration._

_Elle’s porcelain visage remained devoid of discernible emotion. “Yeah. Because then it means it’s not about me. All of this. What happened. I was just in the wrong places at the wrong times. And I can’t blame myself for that.”_

_Somehow, Lexie thought she could see the sense in that. As fucked up as it was._

_If Elle was a victim, however, Lexie was not. Maybe she had been at some point. She had stopped being a victim when she signed a pact with the devil. “I am not sure that applies to me,” she admitted. “I can definitely blame myself.”_

_“You can,” Elle responded with her small voice. “But you don’t have to.”_

_Lexie didn’t think she had anything smart to offer in reply._

_Elle was the one to speak again, after a pause. “Some people say things happen for a reason. But I refuse to accept that I was abused for a reason. It just happened. And it sucked. One day, if we get out of here, I’ll start anew, somewhere else, where none of this will have to matter anymore. It’ll always stay with me, and maybe this new life wouldn’t be much better, but the thought of it gives me hope. It keeps me going for yet another day. And it tells me that what happened doesn’t have to define me forever.”_

_Lexie nodded silently and yet meaningfully, because she definitely could understand that._

_She wished she could start anew too. She had always thought she would change the world someday. She would be the first female President or found a not-for-profit that helped people in need. Whatever it was that she did, she would make the world a better place._

_Instead, she had made it worse. Two weeks in power, and there she was. Trying to disappear into the walls and forget what she had done. She liked the idea of redefining herself. Maybe she wouldn’t try changing the world again. But maybe she could try changing her own self. Her life. Her future._

_That would be a start._

o0o0o

Lexie practically rammed into Becca at the store. She had always been awful with looking where she was going.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized nervously, as she helped the shorter girl pick up the few items she had dropped on the floor.

“It’s okay,” Becca dismissed it in her habitually kind manner.

There was silence as Lexie gave Becca back her stuff. Feeling uneasy, Lexie defaulted to meaningless small talk. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“How’s the baby?”

“Good too.”

“Sam?”

“Yup.”

“Cool.”

“You?”

“Oh, good, good, yeah.”

Becca didn’t seem too hostile, which Lexie took as a good sign. That said, Becca had never been mean to her before, so she wasn’t necessarily a reliable gauge of popular opinion.

Now that she thought of it, she wasn’t sure Becca and she had exchanged a single word since the trial. Their trajectories hadn’t exactly crossed. They were just people who never would have bothered to know each other, had it not been for a collective trauma they all shared.

Becca was trying to be nice, though. “I heard you’ve been helping Harry.”

“Oh, I mean, I am not sure ‘helping’ is the word. That would imply he’s capable of accepting any help, which in turn implies humility. So…”

Becca chuckled softly. “Well, you’re trying. That matters.”

“Sure, I guess.” Lexie rolled her eyes humorously. Clueless as to when was a good time to stop the small talk, and unwilling to be the one to end it – just in case she got it wrong and pushed her reputation to deeper shame – she scrambled for something else to say. “Did you hear about what Clark and Jason’s group have been up to?”

Becca’s smile dimmed. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

“I hear they’ve vandalized Helena’s house, calling her a murderer or something. And they’ve been prank-calling others. Apparently, they’ve been painting Campbell and Dewey as some sort of martyrs. Like they’re the victims and Allie the monster. Like, that’s fucked up, right?”

She noticed a little too late the color draining from Becca’s face. “Yeah,” the shorter girl whispered, looking awfully weak all of a sudden. “Anyway I got to go. Bye, Lexie.”

“Oh, bye.”

Becca was already out the door. Just then, she had looked like she was about to throw up.

Lexie thought she sure hoped that poor girl wasn’t pregnant again.

o0o0o

Lexie was twelve years old when her brother, Greyson, died in a car accident.

A drunk driving incident. He had been the drunk driver. In the other car, a family of three. All of them died.

Her family had to mourn the loss of a son and brother in the midst of hateful protests against their very name. They received accusations from anyone remotely acquainted with the innocent victims. If Greyson couldn’t face the consequences of his actions, then maybe his family could. That, at least, seemed to be the consensus within their community, for the longest time.

Lexie’s parents were never quite the same after that. Even as the hate and bullying subsided and slowly gave way to forgetful ignorance, Lexie always felt the void as vividly and painfully as on the first day. She knew her parents did as well, even though they never talked about it. It was like Greyson had never existed.

Her parents grew stricter after that. They watched her at all times, monitored her activities, and slipped into anxious fits of worry at the slightest triggering event. They practically never left the house, and by association, neither did she.

It was fine, though. She read books, watched TV, played video games. She saw her friends at school. Most people in high school didn’t even know she had once had a brother. Greyson had been six years her elder, few people her age had known him. That suited her just fine. It offered her the respite from home she needed.

Sometimes, she even managed to forget about him. Never for long. But for a while, during classes and over lunch with her friends, she wouldn’t think about him at all. Whenever the thought of him rebounded to her consciousness, she felt weird. Uneasy. Like a cheating spouse caught redhanded. But while it lasted, she felt free.

She had thought about him a lot, during their stay in New Ham. Especially near the end. She had spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, fighting off the memories, wishing in vain to fall into the oblivion of sleep and forget. For the first time, she had wished for someone to talk to about Greyson. Of course, by then, there had been no one to tell.

Lexie wasn’t a fan of apologizing, especially not to people like Harry. But she also wasn’t stupid enough to stay mad with the only friend she got. Hence, she greeted Daniela’s moody pre-teen-default pout with an over-eager smile at the door. She got let in with a roll of the eyes, and she warily made her way to Harry’s bedroom.

She was surprised to find him sitting at his desk. Admittedly, he was still wearing his pajamas, and his hair most certainly looked unwashed, but he wasn’t sprawled on his bed, and that was something in itself.

Before she could make a comment about it, he greeted her with an inquisitive yet unimpressed look. “What’s _that_?” With his chin, he pointed at the large plastic container in her hands.

“It’s called an apology cake. It’s what decent human beings do for each other out in the real world.”

“Oh. And who’s the decent human who told you that?”

“Twat.”

“Nerd.”

At the very least, Lexie had to appreciate how easy it was to mend a friendship with Harry.

She set the cake down on top of Harry’s dresser and went to sit on the edge of the bed. “So. You’re up.”

“Yeah,” he replied distractedly, eyes once again fixed on his laptop screen. “Apparently that’s a thing decent human beings do.”

“Well. Look at us. Moving up in the world.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

She stretched her neck, trying to see what Harry was looking at so intently. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t turn to look at her, but her inevitable curiosity spurred the rise of two amused eyebrows. “Just looking at what I’ve missed on social media.”

“Oh, fun.”

“I would have gone for ‘depressing,’ but okay, sure.”

Lexie tilted her head in a mixture of puzzlement and entertainment. “Why depressing? Because you missed a lot? Or because social media is an infinite void that sucks out all of your energy until it leaves you feeling empty and like the world is devoid of meaning?”

Harry nodded wryly. “Sure. All of the above.”

“Then how about we go see the world with our own eyes instead of through a screen that will eventually kill your eyesight?”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Shockingly not the first time I’ve been told that.”

There was a pause as Harry actually processed her prior offer. “Wait, you mean, going outside?”

“Bold, I know. But yes.”

This time, Harry’s expression could not be described as wry. He looked scared, plainly and embarrassingly authentic in its manifestation. In a matter of seconds, he composed himself, reverting to a nonchalant air of indifference.

“Not really in the mood.”

Something clicked in Lexie’s mind. She had come here to apologize, and she had really intended to play nice today, but now, she was starting to realize there was a greater need for good old ass-kicking Lexie.

“If that’s your deciding factor, I sure hope you like this room. You won’t leave it anytime soon.”

“Hm, are you meant to talk like that to someone who’s depressed?” Harry was using humor and teasing as a smokescreen.

It wouldn’t work. Maybe her talents as a nagging bitch had a greater purpose after all.

“Don’t know. I’m not a therapist, but since you’re not responsive to your actual therapist’s help, maybe you’ll be responsive to this: you have ten minutes to be presentable for the outside world. Because ready or not, in ten minutes, we are walking out that door. I don’t care if I have to drag you. I’m stronger than you think.”

A quick succession of emotions passed over Harry’s face. From surprise to skepticism, to amusement, to doubt, to fear, and then to defeat and acceptance.

She must have been much more intimidating and convincing than she thought because he didn’t even try to fight it.

“Twenty minutes,” he negotiated weakly.

“Fifteen. Now get cracking.”


	19. Allie Pressman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a weird week this was. Sorry for the delays.

_Allie wasn’t sure what she had expected._

_Certainly she had expected something bad. Helena’s somber expression had been indication enough; something very wrong had gone down. Wherever Helena was taking them like this, immediately after their release, the situation had to be grave._

_Whatever she had expected, it hadn’t been Campbell’s dead body, left to soak in a pool of his own blood. Yet there he was. Undeniably dead. Gone forever._

_Some part of Allie wished she was back in her cell. Back wherever she didn’t have to deal with this. To fix this. But she didn’t have a choice. She was back in charge, and people needed her to know what to do. She distractedly listened to Helena’s explanations, while carefully analyzing the scene splayed out in front of her. Her brain went into overdrive, thinking about every next step that needed to happen. She was back in duty. She had responsibilities. She could see that, as strong as Helena tried to be, the latter was completely out of her depth. Will, who had been silent since they had arrived, was looking paler than he ever had._

_It was all on Allie to fix this._

_“Where is she?” she asked Helena matter-of-factly._

_“Home.”_

_“How is she?”_

_Helena’s expression was blank for a second. “Not great, if I were to guess.”_

_Allie nodded, looking back down at the untouched crime scene._

_“Who knows about this?”_

_“Besides those that were here when it happened? Just you and Will.”_

_“Okay.” It wasn’t okay. “It’s fine.” But it had to be. “We’ll make it work.”_

_“Allie…” Will’s voice was raw and tainted with disbelief. When she met his eyes, what she saw in them was pure fear. This wasn’t like anything they had ever had to handle before. Neither of them knew what they were doing._

_She couldn’t afford to have him hesitate now._

_“It’s okay,” she insisted. “We’ll fix this.”_

_A weight instantly appeared to be lifted off Helena’s shoulders. Allie felt the crushing pressure of it transferring onto hers._

_“We’ll fix this,” she repeated mechanically._

_At this point, she was convincing herself as much as the others._

o0o0o

Allie was quite certain that her parents, and especially her mom, were fully aware of their underage daughter regularly drinking with her equally underage male friend in the backyard. A year ago, this piece of knowledge would have earned a painfully long lecture and an equally painful case of getting grounded indefinitely.

Now, they seemed to be cutting her some slack. Because she’d been through shit, lost a sister, and she supposed her parents didn’t want to lose the only daughter they had left. So they turned a blind eye to the beer or two she had with Will once in a while. The latter always brought it with him and carefully disposed of it himself. He never left a single trace behind, which made the whole denial gig by Allie’s parents easier to pull off.

None of that mattered right now anyway. Will was telling one more of his crazy stories, the kind only a ridiculously resilient foster kid could garner over the years. He was impersonating his last foster mother to a level of perfection that brought tears of hilarity to Allie’s eyes. That last family had been alright, all things considered, but he was certainly glad to finally be out of reach of the system’s claws. He was free, if not happy.

He had found a small rental, in an area of town Allie could only qualify as sketchy. It put the entire tiny house trend to shame, and not in a good way. It was cheap, though. It was a place Will could afford with his wages from the restaurant he now worked at full-time. He hadn’t taken Allie up on her offer to stay at her place, and she supposed she wasn’t surprised. 

Will had never been one to accept charity, in whichever form it came. She had long thought it was a risible male pride thing. Now, she thought it may be more of a legitimate survival thing. As if his dignity were his very last buoy, without which he would drown in the depths of an angry dark sea.

Allie had been reading more, lately. And not novels, which she had always loved before, but now found too intangible to appreciate. She instead got her hands on her dad’s nonfiction collection, most of them about the histories of wars. Last week, she read about World War II, and a quote hit particularly close to home.

_Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man’s soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it._

_Without dignity, identity is erased.*_

She supposed that Will and she had that in common now. The knowledge of what it felt like to have your dignity and nothing else to keep you afloat.

She felt guilty for thinking it. Because she still had her parents. She still had people by her side. She still had Will. Sometimes, it just didn’t feel like much. Like maybe it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

She was drawn out of her reverie by a pine nut colliding with her temple.

“What the fuck, Will!”

“The Earth calls Allie,” Will voiced, imitating the scratchy sound effect of distant intercoms.

“Don’t throw stuff in my hair,” she whined in a manner that failed to convey all the irritation she intended to.

“Don’t space out on me, then, Pressman.”

“Oh, excuse me, because you were sharing such ground-breaking revelations, I’m sure.”

“I was, actually. I was saying that _The Swan Princess_ is on Netflix now, and we should have a watching party. Popcorn, chips, nondescript fizzy drinks. Just you and I.”

_Just like before_ , was the implication.

It was amazing, really, how it felt like decades ago that they would have movie nights just the two of them, sometimes with Cassandra too. They would pick a random Disney movie from her mom’s DVD collection, loot the pantry of all decent snacks, and spend the whole night live-commenting – which was to say, trash-talking – the silly love stories and rosy endings they found laughable, and yet infinitely entertaining.

_The Swan Princess_ had been her favorite princess movie from the age of five until she turned twelve. And beyond that, she had really just started lying about it, out of pride. She still watched it at least once a month, especially when she felt down; oftentimes with Will being the unsuspecting cause of such lows.

Of course Will knew how much she loved that movie. Of course he remembered.

Another pine nut hit her skull, and this time got stuck in her hair.

“Oh, come on, Will!”

“So is that a yes?”

She raised an eyebrow and, digging out her most ridiculous singing voice, intoned “I think _this is my idea…”_

Will chuckled and played along. His taunting singing voice joining hers. “ _This is my idea…”_

“ _Of a match_ ”

“ _And such fun!_ ”

Will jumped to his feet and dragged a screeching Allie into a dancing frenzy before she could even muster the words to protest. She wanted to object, she really did. But somehow, she found herself laughing uncontrollably instead.

Meanwhile, Will invested his impersonation talents into presenting his best Prince Derek performance. “ _I can't believe I'm stuck with her all summer!_ ”

Will definitely had a horrible singing voice. Allie was too amused to bring the bit to an end. She did her best to imitate young Princess Odette’s squeaky voice, which wasn’t hard, being a terrible singer herself. “ _He looks conceited_ -”

“ _What a total bummer!”_

" _If I get lucky I'll get chickenpox_."

_“So happy you could come.”_

“ _So happy to be here._ ”

" _How I'd like to run._ "

“ _This is not my –_ ”

“ _This isn’t my idea –_ ”

_“Of fun!”_ They chanted together, before dropping to the ground in useless heaps of tired limbs on the grass, laughing.

Even as Allie, lying on her back, propped herself up on her elbows to regain stability, the chuckles still leaked out of her inconsistently. Next to her, Will rested on his side, head propped on his hand. His laughter slowly died out, replaced by a content smile.

It came out in a blissful sigh, organically, as if it were the most natural thing he could say. “I love you, Pressman.” He was saying it with such ease and comfort, Allie wondered if she had even heard it right.

She had. She had heard the words right, and her insides twisted with sudden nerves and unease. She smiled in place of an answer, and he winced.

He took a sip of his beer, playing it cool. That only worked for a grand total of three seconds, before he snapped. A complete 180 degrees from the inebriated bliss with which he had spoken seconds ago.

“So that’s it? You’re still not going to say it back?”

Allie was unfamiliar with this angry side of him, which she'd only seen a handful of times, and only once directed at her before. “Will…”

“No, don’t.” He now looked painfully sober. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m someone you pity.”

“I’m not…”

“But you are.”

And Allie supposed she wasn’t sure she wasn’t.

Will shook his head and stood up, officially bringing the moment to a regretful end. Without another word, he gathered his things, and left. Allie watched him go, feeling contrite, and yet unable to bring herself to go and stop him.

It should have been easy. Telling Will that she loved him, that was. He had been a constant throughout her life. They had been friends for over ten years. Three of those years, she had born a ridiculous crush towards him. She had even been the one to kiss him first. He had rejected her, and later she had pushed him away in turn. Somehow, in spite of it all, they always went right back where they started: to each other.

They made sense, the two of them. Beyond that, beyond mere logic and convenience, she really did feel something for Will. She cared for him, she wanted him by her side through everything that life could throw her way, good or bad.

Wasn’t that love?

In a sense it was.

The truth was, the problem wasn’t that Allie didn’t love him. It was that she no longer believed she could feel much of anything nowadays.

Earlier that day, she had seen Lexie and Harry near the park. She had been surprised to see him out and about, what with everything she’d heard about his recent mishaps. ‘Out and about’ probably wasn't the right term to describe it, though. Harry looked tired, slowly and bitterly dragging his feet on the concrete, seemingly counting the steps he still had to make before he could get back to his bed.

She remembered visiting him in his room, in New Ham, to check on him when he had first slipped into depression. Of course, ‘checking on him’ was a nice way to put it. She had shown sympathy for a solid two minutes before telling him in no uncertain terms that he would lose half of his rations if he didn’t get out of bed and get to work. It hadn’t worked, of course. He had stayed in bed, day after day, and lost his rations. Not that he had been eating much then anyway.

Over the weeks and months, she had seen Harry wasting away. Slowly fading, then apparently getting better, only to crash again, hard. And she hadn’t helped.

She should have felt bad. Guilty. Responsible, at least.

Seeing him out on the streets of West Ham, on the apparent road to recovery with the help of Lexie, should have sparked something in her. Regret, or relief. Something good, something bad. _Something._

But she felt nothing.

These days, she felt like she was all out of feelings. She got out of bed, she went about her day, putting on an ordinary front. To anyone else, she looked normal. But inside, she felt cold and absent and inert.

She had become insentient. All out of regret, guilt, or anger. All out of joy, gratitude, or excitement.

And of course, all out of love, too.

She had nothing to offer Will that wouldn't end up in disappointment and misery. She would be miserable alone, and she wouldn't drag Will down along with her.

She at least had enough decency to do that for him.

o0o0o

It was half-past midnight when her cellphone rang.

She didn’t recognize the number and briefly considered letting it go through to voicemail, before sighing and answering. It wasn’t like she was busy.

“Allie Pressman?”

The voice was female and firm, like that of an older woman, and one that inspired respect and a healthy dose of fear as well. Allie did not recognize the voice, but it sounded eerily professional, for someone calling at such an hour.

“Yes, this is she.” She tried to sound as composed as the stranger.

“Are you a relative or loved one of Will LeClair?”

She frowned. What had Will done now?

“Yes?” She spoke the word hesitantly, bracing for impact.

Then the thought occurred to her. That maybe something had happened _to_ him. She instantly felt queasy. These things only happened in the movies, didn't they? They didn't happen in real life.

“This is Mariela, from the West Ham Medical Center. Mr. LeClair has you listed as his emergency contact. Can you come over to the clinic?”

The world spun around Allie as she mechanically replied in the affirmative and hung up. Without asking, she jumped in her mother’s car, and drove speedily across town.

o0o0o

Will’s face was so swollen, she wouldn’t have recognized him, had it not been for his signature denim jacket and gravity-defying hair.

He sat on the hospital bed, looking unsurprisingly tired, and maybe a little defeated too, with his lowered head and slumped shoulders. His clothes were dirty, like he had been dragged in the mud across a whole block. His skin was covered in bruises and scratches, and his arm was in a sling.

“It’s not broken,” he hurried to say, skipping all customary greetings, as soon as he saw her approaching, half-running, with shock on her face.

As if that even mattered at this point. He looked annoyed that she was here. She couldn’t care less. She had more pressing concerns than their stupid fight.

“Oh my god, Will, what happened?”

He shrugged, then winced in pain. “I was just out walking, minding my own business. I got jumped by some guys. Two or three, I am not sure.” He played back what he said in his mind, and hastily added, “I didn’t see them coming.”

Again, as if that even mattered. Fucking fragile male pride. As if anyone would expect him to defend himself in a surprise attack involving a three to one ratio.

“Who was it?” She tried not to sound overwrought, but she sensed hints of hysteria piercing through her own voice. She suppressed them to the best of her ability. Now was not the time to freak out. Not here.

Will sighed and shrugged nonchalantly, more carefully this time. As if that could dissuade her of the necessity of staying here with him. “Barely recognized the guys. New Ham kids for sure, but no one I’ve directly interacted with. I couldn’t even tell you their names.” He paused, as if hesitating. One glance at Allie’s fiery gaze and he seemed convinced enough. “But I think we both know who’s behind this.”

Of course she did.

Allie had been downplaying the risks for weeks now, but only because she had been so sure they would come for her next. _She_ could take it. _She_ wasn’t scared of whatever they thought of doing to her. But as she looked over Will’s disfigured self, she realized it wasn’t about her at all. And that… that scared her.

She wanted to run to the police, tell them everything. But as Will went on to explain, they had already taken his statement. He hadn’t had much detail to give them, he wasn’t confident much would come out of this. Even if they brought up Clark’s and Jason’s names, without any kind of proof or plausible reasoning regarding their involvement… They were helpless. Utterly powerless.

This wasn't New Ham anymore. They didn't have that kind of authority; they couldn't protect themselves anymore.

Instinctively, she grabbed Will’s good hand and squeezed, probably harder than she should. Will showed no sign of pain. But maybe that was his macho pride again.

She felt this tightening in her chest, this painful constriction that felt unfamiliar. She wondered if this was what it was like, when Cassandra had a heart attack at the age of twelve. Or when she died. The pressure was so strong, Allie did briefly wonder if she would collapse. Seeing Will like this, it was just…

“I swear to God, Pressman. If you tell me you love me right here and now, I will fucking kill you.”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “I wasn’t gonna.”

“You better.”

She forced a smile on her lips. “Can I say that ‘ _you’re all I’ve ever wanted, you’re beautiful’_?”

If Will could have crossed his arms to pout, he would have. He grumbled before extending the olive branch. “ _What else?_ ”

“ _What else_ _is there?_ ”

“Alright, Allie, I don’t like the _Swan Princess_ that much.”

“I’m heartbroken.”

She wasn’t.

So long as she had Will by her side, maybe she'd make it to the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The quote is by Laura Hillenbrand, from her nonfiction book _Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption._


	20. Grizz Visser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, another Grizz chapter.

_It was late, one muted Wednesday night in February._

_Grizz was nursing a cup of tea in the kitchen, unable to sleep. Again. He blamed it on Gordie’s snoring, even though it never seemed to bother Bean all that much. He was always last to slip into slumber. Sometimes, he would see the first rays of morning sun peek through the blinds before he could even manage it._

_Nothing was particularly the matter. Yet nothing had been quite right since the rebellion. And since the coup. And since they had arrived in New Ham in the first place._

_The clock read ten past midnight when Allie glided into the kitchen, wearing the baggy clothes she passed off as pajamas. Her hair was just messy enough to prove she had at least_ tried _to go to sleep, before finally giving up. She smiled upon noticing his presence, and went to start the electric kettle. She didn’t ask why he was up. He appreciated it, even knowing that she merely feared he would return the favor if she asked._

_They were both silent as she waited for the water to boil, and once she had a fuming cup of herbal tea in hand, she joined him at the kitchen island. She leaned towards him to catch the scent emanating from his mug. She hummed in a theatrical show of appreciative surprise. “I didn’t peg you as the chai tea type,” she noted in amused tonalities._

_“I am full of surprises.”_

_“I can see that.” She smiled as she blew over her own mug._

_Carefully, she took a sip. She frowned at the burning on her tongue, but recovered quickly. When she laid the cup back on the table, she raised an authentic look of sympathy in his direction._

_“You know, I am glad you’re here,” she sighed contentedly, unbothered by the non-sequitur._

_Grizz smiled appreciatively. “Me too.”_

_“It feels safer when you’re here.”_

_“Well. I don’t know about that.”_

_“It’s okay._ I _do.”_

_Allie always proved so trusting when it came to his protection, his wisdom, his presence. It used to make Grizz feel privileged and special. Now, it scared him more than anything. What if he couldn’t live up to it? What if he failed her and everyone else? The stakes were so much higher now. They weren’t kids playing politics anymore. They couldn’t pretend everything would be alright in the end._

_“You seem troubled,” she noted._

_She wasn’t wrong. She rarely was._

_“So do you.” He also had a habit of being right in those matters._

_She smiled, playfully avoiding the ricochet. “Ah, but we’re talking about you now.”_

_Grizz sighed. “I guess things have been quiet lately, and I can’t help but worry.”_

_“Some may say ‘quiet’ is a good sign.”_

_“Yeah. Maybe. But I can’t help but mull over the next time shit is going to hit the fan. I can’t prepare for what awaits us, because I don’t know what it is.”_

_Allie was listening more intently than he would have expected. She smiled humbly as she responded. “I’ve dismissed your fears before, and I ended up in a cell. I’d be wise to listen this time.”_

_“I don’t mean to scare you.”_

_“I know. But you’re smart, Grizz. You see things I don’t.”_

_Grizz knew he was venturing onto dangerous territory, but it was gnawing at him inside. “I’m sure there’s lots I don’t see or know.”_

_Seemingly unfazed, Allie raised a single eyebrow. “Meaning?”_

_Grizz sighed. He didn’t want to poke the bear. Allie herself was no bear, but what he knew she was hiding most definitely felt like one. Some things were left undisturbed, he believed. “Look, Allie, I’m not blind. I know there are things you’re not telling me. And I think I actually want to thank you for that. I don’t think I want to know. Truth is, I’m not sure I could take it.”_

_Allie waited a few beats, before agreeing solemnly. “No. You don’t want to know.” Her voice was cool and serious, yet oddly caring. It confirmed his suspicions._

_“Ignorance is bliss, they say.”_

_“Cheers to that.”_

_They clinked their teacups with disillusioned smiles and sipped their hot beverages in eerily content silence._

o0o0o

When Grizz opened the front door of the Holbrooks’ house, he expected to see someone who had come for Luke or his parents.

He certainly did not expect to find his mother on the doorstep, nervously fiddling with the straps of her purse. She asked if they could talk, and he couldn’t find a valid reason to deny her that privilege. It was a much warmer day of early May. Spring was well underway, gradually yielding to summer. They sat out on the porch to speak.

She sat stiffly, with her purse on her lap. She was nervous, and Grizz couldn’t tell if it was him who made her feel that way. He didn’t think he had changed all that much in the past weeks. Maybe to her eyes, he had.

“How are you?” she asked in a feigned attitude of laid-back inquiry.

“Good.” He spoke as casually as he could. He didn’t want to come off as angry or uninterested, because he really wasn’t. He had missed his mom, and seeing her brought up a mixture of comforting solace and unsettling wariness. If he were never to see his parents again, he didn’t want it to be on him to make that call. “You?”

She smiled sadly. “Well. It would be better if you were at home with us.”

The answer took him by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so forthcoming, for one. He had convinced himself that going home wasn’t even an option, and the desolate look on his mom’s face made him uneasy. Guilty, even.

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She continued, with the same hints of regret glinting in her eyes. “I wanted to give you your space, I wanted to respect that you needed time. But as the weeks went on… I guess I worried. I needed to see that you were okay. I hope that’s alright. That I’m here, I mean.”

His mind was too befuddled for a clear and eloquent answer. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.” He wasn’t sure what it meant, really.

His mother smiled a little brighter, albeit still looking dejected and wearied. She lowered her attention to her purse, which she clicked open. She browsed through its contents for a few long seconds, before pulling out a piece of thick glossy paper.

“I have something for you.” She handed it to him, like a tentative olive branch.

It was a picture. He recognized it instantly. In his memories, the feather boa had been pink, and his costume, so bright it verged on drag queen aesthetic. In reality, the boa was red, and his costume was an imitation of a black-and-white Fred Astaire look. His innocently blissful smile was the one thing he had remembered correctly. He had been so happy, after this recital. And now that he thought back on it, he remembered his mother beaming at him from behind the camera. Looking so proud. Of him.

He remembered now; it was in the weeks following that special moment that she started gradually responding to his spontaneous dancing outbursts with less and less enthusiasm. At seven years old, he hadn’t understood it. Now, he wondered what kind of comments she must have been exposed to as his mother, for her to start viewing it such different light. In the eyes of a concerned, protective mother hen.

_She thought she was making your life easier._

As if in tune with his thoughts, his mom delicately slipped a hand into his, the one that didn’t hold the picture.

“You know I love you, Gareth. You know that, don’t you?” He thought he could hear a waver in her voice, but she didn’t let that stop her. “I may not have been a perfect mother. I have failed in showing you. But _do not_ doubt that I love you and always will. And that I was never, _never,_ ashamed of you.” She squeezed his hand as she uttered those last words. And then, as if in a last Hail Mary, “Please?”

That did it. A tear forced its way to the corner of his eye, and he knew it wouldn’t be the only one.

“I thought you were disappointed,” was all he could mutter before his voice broke.

His mother cried with him.

“Never.” She hiccupped. “Never, honey.”

o0o0o

Grizz showed up impromptu on Sam’s doorstep, something which under normal circumstances he never did. He knew that Becca had her night out with the girls the day before, so he at least wasn’t shooting entirely in the dark. He still tried to be responsible and thoughtful, in spite of the nerves gnawing at his insides.

Sam looked surprised when he opened the door. Behind him, Grizz could see that the common area of the basement was deserted, and the bedroom door was closed. Becca must have gone to bed early, alongside Eden.

_Hi?_

Even Sam’s signing carried an obvious question mark. Still, he was smiling, which at least meant he wasn’t displeased with him for turning up unannounced.

Now that he was here, in front of Sam, about to say it, he felt silly. But he wasn’t about to let his earlier sense of bravado go to waste. He had made it here, in his nicest clothes – which probably wouldn’t qualify as fancy in the eyes of most, but the darker shade of his jeans and the more fitted form of his button-down at least made him look presentable. It was too late to back down now, so instead he slapped a wide smile on his face, the forced kind that probably only made him look even sillier. Or crazier.

Better rip off the band-aid quickly. “Will you go on a date with me?”

In the near five months of their seeing each other, they had never been on an actual date. Riding out the high of reconciling with his mother, Grizz had found it in him to bravely attempt to correct the situation.

Sam didn’t react right away, which set off a resounding alarm in Grizz’s mind. Maybe there was a reason they had never gone out in public. Maybe Grizz had made a terrible, terrible mistake, thinking the redhead would even agree to this.

Then, as Grizz was just about to play it off as a bad joke, a smile etched its way on Sam’s lips, and he looked modestly gleeful.

_I thought you’d never ask._

o0o0o

West Ham was not home to many fanciful restaurants, but Grizz didn’t have a whole lot of money to spend on expensive entrées anyway. Still, he took Sam to a restaurant with table service, which qualified as lavish enough in his book.

The dining room was fairly busy at this time. All around them were other patrons, averaging at his parents’ age. Most of them, Grizz vaguely recognized. You couldn’t live in a small town like West Ham and not know at least half the people you met in public. Grizz thought he recognized Shoe’s mom somewhere at the back. By the window, a few tables over, was Mrs. Parker, who worked at the post office. Behind her was Bean’s grandmother, out with other elderly ladies he had seen many times, even though he couldn’t recall their names. He had held doors open and helped carry heavy bags for them before, each time earning himself the sobriquet of “nice young man.”

In this moment, Grizz wished he lived in a large metropolis, where he could relax in the sweet comfort of anonymity. Surrounded by familiar faces, the air in the room felt asphyxiating. He felt curious eyes persistently focused on him, even when there clearly weren’t any. Paranoia was holding on tight.

He had to focus back on those mesmerizing blue eyes facing him to stop himself from sweating so profusely. He needed to anchor himself in the moment. He didn’t want to ruin this. It had been too long in the making to go sour so quickly.

Sam titled his head to catch his attention. If he noticed Grizz’s unspoken anxieties, he said nothing of it. “Do you think we can get away with ordering wine?”

Grizz scrunched up his nose in skepticism. “Maybe _I_ can. I don’t think those baby blue eyes will pass the over-twenty-one visual test.”

Sam responded with a grimace, which did nothing to age his already youthful features. Grizz chuckled shamelessly. For a second, he didn’t think at all about what other people could surmise about two boys going out for dinner on a Friday night. He didn’t even wince when Sam surreptitiously slid his hand forward on the surface of the table, and his fingers met Grizz’s halfway. He let those slim fingers tickle the edges of his hand fondly, and for a hazy moment, nothing else mattered.

The moment was brought back to tasteless clarity by the vibrations of Sam’s phone. The device had been left unattended on the corner of the table, all but forgotten until now. Uninterested, Sam threw a quick glance at the flashing screen, where a text message had just popped up. He instantly frowned, and turned the phone face down a little too speedily for it to seem casual.

“What’s wrong?” Grizz asked the redhead, catching onto the suspicious nature of the move.

Sam smiled sweetly. _Nothing,_ he signed. He almost looked convincing.

By now, Grizz knew him well enough to know better. “Sam…” He leaned closer, now frowning too. “What is it?”

Sam seemed to silently debate whether to brush it off or to give in and explain. The simple fact that he hesitated made it impossible for him to play it off as inconsequential. Realizing this, Sam sighed, turning the phone back towards him.

“I’ve been getting texts lately.”

“Texts?”

“Yes, from a number I don’t recognize. They’re… not nice.”

Grizz was confused for half a second before he caught his meaning. His face grew somber when he did. “Are you getting threats too?”

Sam canted his head from side to side, dubious about the choice of words. “I don’t think you can call them threats.” He handed Grizz his unlocked phone. “They’re weird.”

The message thread was purely one-sided and came from an unknown number. A long series of cryptic messages crowded the left side of the screen. All of biblical origin, with vague references to treason, evil, and redemption. Clark and Jason, being their unoriginal selves, had apparently taken the whole writing on the wall concept and run with it. Some of these quotes did not even mean what the sender seemed to think they did, which showed very little effort into the actual research behind this absurd cyber-bullying operation. It all made very little sense, out of context. Evidently, accuracy was not the aim here anyway.

“Sam…” Grizz slowly dragged the words out of his numbing mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Sam lowered his eyes, before raising them again in apology. “I didn’t want you to worry. I already have Becca who freaks out about the slightest thing these days. She’s very sensitive.”

Grizz looked unimpressed. “Of course we worry, Sam! _Damnit_.” He couldn’t bring himself to sound as angry as he felt. He didn’t want to attract attention anyway, so he kept his voice even. “Didn’t you hear what they did to Will? This is _serious_!”

_I know_ , Sam signed. Somehow, the lack of spoken words seemed to calm Grizz down slightly. Sam looked regretful enough. He continued uninterrupted, voicing the words this time. “I am sorry. I just don’t think they’ll come after the deaf kid. I didn’t want to add to anyone’s worry.”

Grizz shook his head slowly. “You don’t know that.”

“No, but if anyone needs to be careful, at this point, I think it’s Allie.”

“And you too.” To hell with onlookers. Grizz grabbed the other boy’s hand over the table and squeezed. “ _Please_ don’t be stupid about this. I couldn’t handle losing you.”

Sam squeezed right back. “Same with you.”

There was a long pause. Grizz observed every feature of Sam’s face. His furrowed eyebrows, the worry lines on his forehead. The way his eyes sparkled with unbridled warmth and fondness, even through the shroud of worry and concern. The way he bit his lip as if he’d stolen the habit from Grizz himself.

Grizz felt like he was experiencing the full dizzying effect of a breakthrough. He faintly, oh so faintly, leaned forward. With his eyes, he asked for permission. And he got it.

Sam leaned in and kissed him over the table. The hands that held one another shifted to interweave their fingers, as Sam’s lips chastely brushed against Grizz's, before pressing against them more forcefully. Grizz could feel his scalp burning with the shocked looks of the other patrons; he had no clue if they were real or purely the fruit of his imagination. He didn’t want to look and make sure.

He let the warmth of Sam’s kiss wash away all of his worries.


	21. Kelly Aldrich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of a character's past experience with sexual assault.
> 
> If this constitutes a trigger for you, please proceed with caution.

_Following the trial, Kelly started spending more time with Becca._

_At first, it was to keep an eye on Eden, to make sure she was healthy. They only had limited resources, and Kelly preferred caution to reaction. Rapidly enough, it became about Becca too. She wasn’t well, in the weeks that followed the events. Kelly supposed giving birth in the midst of political chaos was bound to have its repercussions._

_And Becca didn’t even know half of what had been going behind closed doors. Kelly couldn’t imagine how bad it would have been if she had._

_Sam worried. He brought up the term “post-partum depression” with hesitant signing. She told him they should wait it out, let the dust settle, let them all recover from the recent events. Secretly, she looked it up anyway and was relieved to find the symptoms did not quite match._

_So she spent more time with Becca and Eden, to keep an eye out for them, but also because she felt alone and needed a distraction. She felt weighed down by the secrets she wished she didn’t have to keep. She had agreed to join the council, merely because Gordie didn’t think he could handle the pressure, and she didn’t want him to have to. Sometimes, she watched Allie, and Will, and Helena, and she envied the secrecy they shared. Kelly didn’t want to know what they knew, but at the same time, she wished she weren’t in this weird limbo state, of not knowing enough and yet knowing too much. She couldn’t confide in anyone. She was all on her own._

_When she helped out with Eden, she didn’t have to think about any of that. In those beautiful khaki eyes, she saw the purity of new beginnings and the infinite possibilities of an unmapped future. Eden was the embodiment of times to come; with luck, these upcoming times would be better. That gave Kelly hope._

_Seeing Becca get healthier over time also gave her hope. If Becca could get over two political coups while her hormones were that high, then there was hope for all of them to get better too._

_There were times, when Becca thought no one was watching, that Kelly caught her looking… distant. Deep in thoughts. Haunted by them, almost. It always passed quickly, as soon as she became aware of anyone’s presence._

_They all had their demons to fight, Kelly supposed._

_Kelly certainly had hers._

O0o0o

It was way past any reasonable bedtime, considering that Becca would be up early, for better or worse, alongside Eden. Yet, there Kelly and Becca were, whispering and giggling in hushed tones like schoolgirls. Never mind that there was a sleeping baby just a few feet away.

Kelly had to remind herself that they were, in fact, schoolgirls. Of sorts. They hadn’t graduated yet. Kelly had been studying hard lately, trying to get ready for the senior exams. One would think that, after so many spontaneous study sessions with Gordie, it would be child’s play. Medicine books may have helped to get them ready for science exams, but Kelly hadn’t touched Humanities in a year, and she was having a hard time catching up on senior-year English and history. She really couldn’t afford to fail those exams now. She didn’t want to stick around West Ham any longer than strictly necessary.

Becca had started her GED classes, and so had Sam. They had made arrangements to do most of it from home, so they could make it work with a baby.

It was odd, being back to school. Maybe it explained the teenage sleepover feel of their evening.

Kelly spent more and more nights at Becca’s. She didn’t try to disguise it as professional duty anymore. She just didn’t want to be home. Becca had a big bed to herself anyway. It worked out.

Kelly could feel drowsiness fog her brain, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to shut up and sleep yet. In fact, maybe it was the exhaustion disintegrating her inhibitions. Under normal daytime circumstances, she never would have ventured on such dangerous territory, as she was about to.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she whispered into the general direction of Becca’s face, somewhere in the dark. “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

Becca sighed in a simile of annoyance. “Well, you’ll have to ask before I can decide, won’t you?”

She took a deep breath before taking the plunge. “Is… is Grizz the father?”

There was a long, dreadful silence. Before Becca burst out laughing in barely controlled hushed tones.

“Oh-my-god,” she erratically voiced in-between hiccups. “I’m sorry! It’s just… I can’t even _imagine_.”

“What?” Kelly defended herself. “He’s around a lot, I just thought…”

“ _Yeah,_ and he spends all of his time with Sam.”

“With Sam _and_ Eden, _and_ you too, sometimes. I just thought… since you implied it didn’t end well with the father, maybe that was his way of being present.”

Even in the obscurity of the room, Kelly could sense Becca’s features darkening.

“It’s not Grizz,” she responded innocuously.

Kelly did not insist beyond that point, afraid she would ruin the moment. Becca just didn't laugh quite so often anymore.

o0o0o

For months now, Kelly had lived with her dad’s secret, a burden constantly weighing on her shoulders, without the protagonist of this whole charade being even remotely aware of her silent involvement.

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon when she cracked.

She was studying in the living room. Her mom walked in, bringing a fuming mug of camomile tea to the coffee table, next to Kelly’s messy pile of books. Kelly thanked her with a smile; her mom kissed her head and murmured that she was so, so proud of her.

And then Kelly burst out crying. No warning, no warm-up. Just fat ugly tears streaming out for no apparent reason. Understandably, her mom was concerned.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked meekly, sitting next to her daughter on the couch and wrapping a comforting arm about her shoulders.

That was too much. She didn't even the words coming herself.

“Dad cheated on you.”

She wasn’t sure her mom could even understand her, through her chaotic sobbing.

The long dragging silence that followed told her that she did, in fact, understand perfectly. That dreadful sinking feeling took residence in Kelly's chest and she instantly regretted it.

_What had she done?_

“Honey.” Her mom’s voice was oddly calm, albeit a little concerned. “How did you find out?”

Her mom’s tone was puzzling in its equanimous nature. Kelly blinked a few times, before pulling out of her mom’s embrace to seek confirmation in those composed features.

“You knew.” It wasn’t a question. Still, Kelly was dumbfounded when her mom failed to contradict her.

Mrs. Aldrich smiled that very same smile she always gave Kelly when she needed comforting. With delicate fingers, she expertly brushed a strand of hair out of Kelly’s damp face. “Of course I knew.”

There was so much to wrap her head around. “How?”

Her mom was still smiling, incomprehensibly at peace with the topic. Kelly thought she saw a touch of regret reflecting in her eyes, but she couldn't be sure it wasn't her imagination. “Your dad had a breakdown after you disappeared. He felt responsible for what happened to you, somehow. Like it was his punishment.” A veil of distant pain briefly passer over her face. “It wasn’t pretty, Kelly. One day, he got exceedingly drunk, blurted out the truth, and then stayed in bed for days.”

Kelly frowned. That did not sound like her dad at all. He had always been a master of self-control, so strong. She had always admired him, she remembered with unease. Since coming back, she had been aloof, mainly detached with her father, redrawing him as a colder, meaner figure in her mind to make distancing easier.

Now she was confronted with yet another side of him. And she hated everything about it. Because it made her question everything about her behavior and attitude of late.

“You’re not mad.” Again, Kelly merely stated the obvious.

Her mom only smiled softly again. “I forgave your father a long time ago.”

“How?”

The smile wavered on Mrs. Aldrich’s lips. Only so briefly. “Maybe because I was too afraid to lose him too. But also because we all make mistakes, love.”

Kelly wanted to scoff, but it only came out as a weak sigh. “We don’t all cheat.”

“No, we don’t.” She mindlessly stroke Kelly’s hair as she spoke. “But we all get a little lost, sometimes. We all pretend we know what we’re doing, but most of the time, we don’t. We can only pretend for so long.”

And Kelly thought she could understand that, if nothing else.

o0o0o

When Gordie’s face flashed on her phone screen, Kelly answered without thinking twice.

“Hey!” she exclaimed casually, albeit a little surprised. They texted all the time, but rarely called. “Everything okay?”

The lighting in Kelly’s room was dimmed, with her bedside lamp the only source of illumination. She had been reading for the past hour. Everyone else in the house was asleep.

“Hum…” Gordie’s voice cracked on the monosyllable, and Kelly instantly knew something was wrong. “Not really, no,” he admitted.

Instinctively, Kelly tightened her grip on the phone. “What is it? Are you okay?”

The worry in her voice spurred him to be more reassuring. “I’m fine, I’m okay. It’s not me, it’s… it’s my house. It’s them. They struck again.”

“What did they do? Did they tag your house like Helena’s?”

“Yeah… and no.”

Kelly huffed impatiently. “Gordie stop being so cryptic!”

“Hold on, I’m sending you a picture.”

It took a few seconds for Kelly’s phone to buzz, signaling the reception of the file. She took the phone off her ear and tapped on the illegible miniature preview.

When the picture expanded to fill her screen, she saw that it was no simple one-word tag like the last time. This was an actual sentence.

She tilted the phone to get a better read. There, across the front of the house, in semi-large, dripping red letters, read a quote by Lucius Annaeus Seneca. Kelly had to look it up on Google to find that out, and she was willing to bet that the perpetrators had found it in the same manner.

Regardless of the source, the words hung threateningly above the porch, daring anyone to get close.

_EVERY GUILTY PERSON IS HIS OWN HANGMAN._

o0o0o

Becca’s face was drained of all color when Kelly showed her the picture.

“I don’t get it,” Becca muttered in a trembling voice. “Why Gordie?”

Kelly shrugged. “He was the prosecution at the trial. I guess they’re going for the twisted angle that Gordie is an executioner of sorts, while Campbell is a victim.”

Becca nodded. First, somewhat calmly. Then, more unevenly. And then she started shaking.

“Becca?” Kelly tempted gently, but her concern grew exponentially as she saw the other girl fall apart in front of her very eyes. “Becca, what’s wrong!”

It took a while for Becca to speak again. Kelly held her in her arms as she cried, weirdly without any tears. Maybe this was a panic attack. Kelly had never actually seen one live. All she knew was that this was terrifying, whatever it was.

She took Becca to her bed, where she slowly seemed to calm down, all wrapped up in her blankets.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft Kelly almost didn’t hear her.

“I was raped.”

“What?” Kelly mentally slapped herself for asking. It only took her half a second to actually grasp the meaning of Becca’s words, but by then, it was too late to take it back.

Still, Becca repeated. “I was raped. At a party.” Her voice stayed at the level of a murmur, but she kept talking, as if saying the words were her way of performing an exorcism of sorts. She was getting it out of her system. “It was that party at Jason’s house, just a few weeks before that camping trip. I had a few drinks too many. I blacked out.” She hiccupped. Or sobbed. Kelly wasn’t sure. “Except I didn’t. Not really. It’s like I was walking through a thick fog. I didn’t push him away… I didn’t… But I remember all of it.”

By then tears were rolling down Becca’s cheeks, and Kelly held her close, lulling her to sleep.

As she did, Kelly let it all sink in, and her thoughts were railing. Her eyes darted to the crib in the corner. She thought of Eden, who looked so much like her mother it had always amused Kelly. It was like a carbon copy. Like they’d used the exact same mold.

Except for her eyes. The weirdest shade of dark khaki green, constantly oscillating between brown and green. Such a unique shade. It had never looked anything like Becca’s or Sam’s. It was a shade that had to belong to her dad, whoever he was.

No more words were exchanged. Silence hung above the two girls for a long time. When Kelly heard Becca’s weak snoring, she quietly slid out of the room and made her way to the living room, where Sam’s sleeping area was left empty. Becca had said Sam was visiting his parents with Eden tonight, and she’d thought it best not to go with them.

On the small table that served as a bedside table next to the pull-out couch was a collage of many different pictures, most of them of Sam’s family, Becca, Allie and Cassandra, Gordie and Bean. A montage visibly made before New Ham, with a small picture of Eden having recently been pinned to the side.

And there, in the left corner, was a picture of a younger Sam standing next to an equally younger Campbell. Sam’s blue eyes glinted in the summer sun with the kind of blissful joy only a child could express.

Next to him, Campbell stared at the camera coldly. With his dark, khaki green eyes.


	22. Clark Beecher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter includes violence, blood, and traumatic memories of war.

_It had been a late February night, in the small bedroom of the remote residence reserved for Clark, Jason and Harry._

_Harry was sprawled on the lone single bed, barely listening. The other two persisted in including him in the conversation, pretending not to notice how his replies – when they ever came – were persistently monosyllabic. They sat on their respective air mattresses and blabbed away regardless._

_Through the cracked open door of the room – they weren’t allowed to keep it fully shut – they could hear the crackling fire that Brandon, some guy from the basketball team recently hired for the Guard, was lazily maintaining._ _They didn’t think Brandon was listening, and even if he were, they were smart enough not to say anything incriminating while he was awake. It wasn’t one of those talks anyway. Tonight, they just wanted to forget about the back-breaking workday they had barely made it through, and about the identically long hours that awaited them the next day._ _Tonight, they just wanted to talk about something that wasn’t entirely depressing, for once._

_“You know what I miss?” Jason asked to no one in particular. “I miss my dog. Every morning, she’d wake me up, ‘cause she knew I was the only one crazy enough to go for a walk at five in the morning.”_

_Clark hummed in amused agreement. “Dogs are loyal, man.”_

_“Ain’t that the truth.” Jason sighed contentedly. Casually, he turned to Harry’s misshapen form under the blankets. “How about you, man? What do you miss most?”_

_Harry mumbled something that they thought included the word ‘sister.’ They nodded and moved on, knowing Harry wouldn’t humor them much longer._

_“Clark?” Jason turned his gaze to the latter, now awaiting his answer._

_Clark couldn't help the fond smile creeping its way on his face. “You know I miss my brother, man.”_

_“Ah, Jamie-boy. He’s cool.”_

_“Nah, man, he’s not just cool. He’s the best. He’s the funniest little shit, and I’m telling you, he’s going to be one hell of a player someday.”_

_“I mean, he’s already flirted with every single one of your girlfriends. I think he already is.”_

_Clark laughed out loud, because it was true. Jamieson had always managed to charm every girl Clark brought home. He would have them wrapped up around his little finger in no time, all while he wiggled lewd eyebrows at Clark over the girl’s shoulder._

_That little shit._

_Clark sighed again, this time more nostalgic than amused. “You know, it’s the thought of him that keeps me going. If I didn’t have him to think about, if I didn’t think I had to go back home for him… I don’t know, man.”_

Maybe I wouldn’t be here anymore. _Jason nodded. He understood._

_If it weren’t for the people they needed to see again, to stay alive for, where would they be now?_

_Clark didn’t want to think about it._

o0o0o

This was not Clark’s first rodeo at the police station.

This time, however, Clark was not guided to the relatively cozy breakroom of the police station. Instead, he found himself sitting at a bare table in an austere room, which looked an awful lot like those interrogation rooms in the movies. Admittedly, there was no one-way mirror, and the lighting wasn’t dramatically dimmed, but Clark still felt like he was under disturbing scrutiny. The room even felt colder than seemed natural at this time.

When Chief Holbrook joined him, he looked stern, no longer bearing the welcoming, friendly attitude he had displayed on their last encounter.

_This is bullshit_ , Clark thought. He didn’t even deserve to be here. He had done nothing wrong. Nothing that wasn’t rightly justified.

“Hello, Clark.” The chief smiled politely. “Thank you for coming in.”

Clark huffed wryly. “Did I have a choice, Chief?”

The chief looked somewhat convivial as he sat across from him at the small table. “You did. You’re not under arrest, son.”

“Could have fooled me,” Clark muttered.

The chief wisely chose to ignore it. There were more pressing matters than Clark’s moods at this time.

Chief Holbrook cleared his throat and carried on. “We have recorded multiple acts of vandalism and violence in the past weeks, all targeting some of your colleagues.” He overlooked Clark’s eye roll at the use of the term ‘colleagues.’ “We are particularly concerned about an assault on Will LeClair, which occurred a couple weeks back. I was hoping you could tell me something about that.”

Clark had been on the defensive since setting foot in the station. His response came as no surprise. “Why? I didn’t do it. I was home that night, my family can confirm that.”

The chief smiled in a way that Clark evidently found patronizing. Not wrongly so. “Yes, Clark, we are aware that you did not assault Mr. LeClair. As I said, you are not under arrest.”

“Then why am I here?”

The chief laced his fingers methodically over the table. “No one was able to identify the culprits, and yet, almost everyone we spoke to ended up mentioning your name and that of Jason Alvarado. Neither of you could have done it, and yet, you seem to be on everyone’s mind. Do you happen to know why they would consistently bring up your names, Clark?”

If Clark hadn’t already had his arms crossed, he would have done so now. In lieu of that one particular demonstration of annoyance, he slumped into his chair a little further.

“They hate us. It’s payback, or something.”

“Payback for what, Clark?”

Clark smiled wryly. “Are you serious, right now? For months, you’ve been told about _their_ crimes. You’ve heard the stories, you’ve been given all kinds of reasons to investigate, and you’re doing jack shit about it. But now that Jason and I are suspects in some minor assault case that's got nothing to do with us, you’re going to get on our asses? Really? Are you really that bad at your jobs around here?”

The chief, unfazed by the dramatic soliloquies of sentimental teenagers, let no smile or huff escape his control. Clark was trying to deflect. The older man maintained a neutral front, determined to crack the young man’s superficially strong exterior.

“You say ' _their_ crimes.' What crimes are you referring to here, Clark?” he asked in a cool, unshaken voice.

Clark shook his head almost imperceptibly. Still, he went ahead and said it. What was the point of veiled accusations anymore?

“Allie killed Campbell. And Dewey. There’s no reason to think she also killed Cassandra and Emily, but hey, with someone like that, I guess you never know!”

Chief Holbrook slowly, patiently took it in. There was a pause, and he could see that his own composed exterior destabilized the young man slightly.

“Are you accusing Allie Pressman of having killed her own sister?”

Upon hearing those words, Clark looked more annoyed than before, if that was even possible. “That’s what you focus on, _really?_ I don’t know nothing about Cassandra, but I do know Allie killed Campbell and Greg. That’s two people. Now I’m no expert, but I’m pretty that fits the definition of murderer. I can’t be the only one who’s told you this. And yet, she’s out there, roaming the streets freely.”

That was a manner of speaking, of course. Allie Pressman had been known to barely leave her house since her return. That was the case of many of their returned youths. They locked themselves up indoors, only ‘roaming’ the streets out of necessity. When they did, they looked like pale otherworldly apparitions, going through the motions mindlessly.

Still eerily calm, the chief leaned in ever so slightly. His voice, albeit unthreatening, sounded much cooler than before. Shivers were sent down Clark’s spine against his will.

“There’s a lot of things I’ve heard about, Clark. One thing that particularly caught my attention, is the existence of a parallel universe. A version of West Ham that looked just like this one, but wasn’t. A world without adults, without the usual resources, where minors had to learn to survive. Now, I can’t say whether I believe it or not, but one thing that’s certain is that you kids weren’t here. And wherever you were, you must have faced tremendous trials. That, I don’t just believe; I think I can even understand, in some way.

“You may not know this, Clark, but I was in the military, long before Luke was born. I was deployed once. Just once. In 1998. We were sent to Kenya, in response to terrorist attacks on US Embassies in the capital of Nairobi. Many troops came and went as the situation progressed, but my battalion, we stayed there for months. First to coordinate medical efforts, and then to help with peace efforts. I was in my mid-twenties, full of ideals and hopes. If you’ve ever heard a veteran’s story of war, Clark, then you know that’s where the story goes sour.

“Over those few months, I grew close with Gerald, another low-rank soldier about my age. We often worked the same assignments and shifts, we spent a lot of time together. Most of our jobs consisted in keeping watch over critical areas. It was mostly boring, so long as we didn’t think of the countless dead bodies dragged out of the rubble every day.

“One day, a kid came over to us. He asked us for food, in a local accent we’d grown used to. He was evidently poor, wearing dirty clothes, and looking thinner than should have been possible for a kid acting so nonchalant. He looked proud, confident. He was wearing around his neck a dangling string of pebbles. A necklace of sorts. It looked like his most precious possession, even though it couldn’t be worth anything, really.

“Gerald grew fond immediately. He fished out some snack from his pockets, probably crackers. The kid stared at us defiantly, grabbed the crackers, and then left. No thank yous, no goodbyes. He just took the food and left. Gerald was in pure adoration, and called him the most endearing little shit he’d ever met. Just like that, he was attached.

“The kid came again the next day, and the next. Gerald always brought snacks with him, specifically for that kid. We asked for his name, but he never answered. Gerald ended up calling him Robert. I think that was his younger brother’s name. It brought him a little bit of home away from home.

“After weeks of this consistent routine, Robert stopped showing up. Gerald was alarmed, worry was eating away at him. You see, those weeks were hard ones. We had seen so many dead bodies; many Americans, but exponentially more locals, some ironic collateral damage of the attacks. Many locals were wary of Americans, and were in no way reassured by our claims of wanting peace. We saw violence. Towards our people, but also towards locals, who did nothing wrong as far as we knew. It was so confusing, so chaotic and unpredictable. It’s hard to keep your sanity in those circumstances. You hold on to the slightest things. And when those things disappear, it’s easy to fall off the wagon. Sometimes, you just lose it.

“Gerald looked more tired in the days that followed. He looked depressed. I worried for him. I’d heard too many tales of soldiers coming back broken. I didn’t want it to happen on my watch, but there wasn’t much I could do. Days passed. Then weeks.

“One day, we were assigned to a clean-up operation on a crumpled building. We got to clearing, finding bodies along the way. We barely noticed anymore. At the end of the day, making our way back to base camp, we noticed something odd. There was a lump on the side of the road, a dead thing vultures were picking at. Drawing closer, we saw it was a small body. A child’s.

“We recognized him right away. It was Robert. He had been dead for days, by the look of it. I thought I’d finally seen it: the image that would haunt my nightmares for years to come. I was quickly proven wrong. While I stood there, stunned, Gerald grabbed a stick off the ground and ran towards the vultures, screaming like a beast. The birds flew away, but one was too slow. Gerald hit it. Again, and again, and again, until it was a pulpless feathery mass on the ground.

“Then, Gerald dropped the stick, and we walked back to camp in complete silence. We never talked about it.

“I wish I could say that was the end of the story. Over the next few days, Gerald grew silent, even more somber than before. He barely talked anymore. Barely ate, barely slept. He worked tirelessly all day, and spent his nights staring into a void I couldn’t see. Three days after we had found Robert’s dead body, we were making our way back to camp, later than we should have. In the dark, we were met with a man in a dark alley. He looked suspicious, but maybe that was just the gloomy feel of the night. He asked us for something to eat. I checked my pockets, knowing I wouldn’t find anything in them. But Gerald, he wasn’t looking for food to offer that man. No. Instead, he was staring at him in stunned silence. I followed his gaze, and saw what dangled from the man’s neck. It was a small, dangly string of pebbles.

“Without a word, Gerald pulled out his gun and shot that man in the face. Now I had truly seen it: the one horrifying image to forever haunt my nightmares.

“We returned to the States in 1999. I hurt my back in the line of duty, and was never deployed again. I moved here, got married. I hear Gerald is now in Texas. Married, with a family. I am not naïve enough to believe he is all well and happy. I know exactly what nightmares he has every night. I know, because I have the same.

“You see, I am not saying your New Ham is my Kenya, Clark. But what I ask you is, what happens in those other worlds, far from here, how much of it do we have jurisdiction over? How far can we go, trying to play God?”

The silence was deafening. Clark’s gulp resonated against the walls of the room.

o0o0o

Gwen had pointedly ignored him ever since that first encounter at the support group meeting. If he saw her out around town, she would cross the street or move out of his way before they could get anywhere near each other.

It was an unusually humid Thursday afternoon when she broke that comfortable routine. She suddenly appeared in front of him at the store, staring at him intently and angrily. The sight was destabilizing enough that he failed to interrupt her before she could launch into a furious tirade.

“What’s wrong with you, Clark?”

She bore that angry look that had always sent chills down his spine. He wanted to sound strong and unaffected, but failed. He tried for an easy out. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ooh, sure, Clark. You’re real clueless. You’ve always been a brainless little minion. But not this time. Nooo, this time you’re evolving into a true Machiavellian villain. Are you proud?”

He was fuming, feeling like he could just explode. And yet, something was keeping him from really saying what was on his mind. “Fuck, Gwen, you don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

She chuckled dryly. “You’re right! You’re so right! You know why? Because I don’t know you anymore. I thought I did, once. Not anymore.”

“Gwen.” His voice was a mixture of boiling anger and wailing pain, and he felt ashamed for it. For showing any authentic sign of weakness.

She didn’t let him finish anyway.

“You know why I left you, Clark? Because I don’t recognize you. I don’t recognize you here today, I didn’t recognize you when you were on your stupid power trip in New Ham, and if I’m completely honest, I didn’t recognize you before New Ham even happened. You changed, Clark. And it’s not New Ham that did it. Some of us are shitty kids and grow up to become better human beings. But you, I think you just grew into a bad person. You were sweet, once. Not anymore.”

And then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she left. Clark let her go without a word, too stunned, and feeling stupid. He was too upset to come up with a response that fully carried the whole weight of what he was feeling.

He tried very, very hard not to admit to himself that he was hurt, and that her words would haunt him into the late hours of the night, forcing the question onto his unwilling mind.

What did he become? He didn’t have an answer.

o0o0o

People thought tragedies happened at night. The obscurity faintly lit by dim moonlight seemed so much more appropriate for horror stories, real or not.

Clark now knew how fallacious that assumption really was. Sometimes, tragedies happened in the middle of the afternoon, when the sun was out and the warm weather brought town residents out of their shells to laze around in the cozy outdoors.

Clark’s parents had gone to the shopping mall a few towns over, and he was in charge of watching over Jamieson. The brothers had an unspoken agreement; so long as he was careful and no one told their parents, Jamieson was free to go play outside unsupervised. This was West Ham anyway. What could happen in West Ham?

Distantly, Clark heard the front door open and close, indicating that Jamieson was back from the park. He thought of going down the stairs to ask how it had been, but the slow footsteps he heard climbing the stairs told him he wouldn’t have to.

“Clark,” came Jamieson’s voice from the doorway, right behind Clark. His voice sounded chirpy, almost excited. With a smile, Clark turned to face his brother.

He stopped in his tracks immediately. There, on the doorstep of his bedroom, Jamieson stood. In his right hand, he held one of those large darts that came in a set, designed to be aimed at hoops placed on the grass. The dart should have been blue. Instead, it was covered in a dark red goo that dripped on the floor. Jamieson’s clothes were stained too. Wide, angry red stains.

Jamieson was covered in blood.

Clark rushed to his brothers, frantically looking for the wound. “Jamieson! Oh my god, what happened!”

“It’s okay,” Jamieson told him calmly, as if amused by his brother's freak-out. “It’s not my blood.”

Clark blinked a few times, processing the information too slowly. No matter how much he turned it around in his mind, it didn’t make sense. “What do you mean?”

Surely the explanation would make sense. Clearly Clark wasn’t seeing what _had_ to be obvious.

Jamieson still looked amused as he spelled it out for him. “I stabbed her.”

Clark had no idea what he was saying. Still, he felt a slow, sinking feeling in his chest. He knew his face was getting drained of all color. Dread. It was dread. “Stabbed… who?”

Jamieson beamed with pride. “The bitch.”

Clark’s brain went railing, so fast he couldn’t grasp anything anymore. The images flew by him too quickly to really see them.

He saw Jason and he on the couch, talking about all the things they’d do to Allie if they had the chance, each idea more horrific than the one before. Their plans were crazy, cruel, but the boys comforted themselves in the knowledge that they would never actually carry them out. Those shenanigans they were actually pulling, it was all about instilling fear and letting Allie know who was boss. Putting Allie in her place, without getting into too much trouble. They hadn't approved of those guys beating up Will, although they hadn't voiced it too loud. That had gone a bit too far. It hadn't been their idea.

They had just wanted to scare Allie.

_No_ , he reminded himself. Not “Allie.” _The bitch_ was what they always called her. They never checked if Jamieson was really in his bed when they talked. Heck, sometimes they kept going even when he was there, only slightly veiling their words with vague euphemisms. Jamieson was nine years old. There was no way he understood.

Was there?

Jamieson stood there, eyebrows furrowed, confused by Clark’s shocked silence.

“What is it, Clark?” he sounded impatient. “Aren’t you happy?”

And Clark thought he had seen it. The image that would haunt his nightmares.

Aren’t you happy, Clark?

_Aren’t you happy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I am sorry?


	23. Allie Pressman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end draws nearer.

_They cleaned the house, quietly. They moved the body, as inconspicuously as possible. Elle was relocated to new living quarters, and they all prepared for the most complex and most corrupted trial of New Ham’s short history._

_Having thrown away the evidence, Allie watched the sunrise reach over the trees of the Eliots’ backyard. Will stood by her side, equally ensconced into the inadequate heavenly sight. That the world was still allowed such innocent displays of natural beauty seemed senseless. Cruel, almost._

_“We’ll never be the same.” Her tone was matter-of-factly. It called for neither reassurance nor denial._

_Will understood it perfectly. “We haven’t been the same in a while, Allie.”_

_And that was true._

_They hadn’t._

_Maybe they never would again._

o0o0o

Allie swore when she moved and pain shot up her leg again. One would think that, having been stabbed in the thigh, she would remember to keep it still. True to her masochistic tendencies, she did not.

She was discharged from the clinic in the morning, after a night spent under observation. Her mother had insisted on staying by her side until her release, while her dad went home to prepare for her arrival. Her injuries were minor – those had even been the doctor’s words – but her parents thought it best if she didn’t use the stairs for a while. Instead, they moved her stuff to the guest bedroom on the first floor.

It was small and stuffy in that room. It hadn’t been used in over a year. As the morning hours merged into later afternoon daylight, she sat out on the porch, taking in the sun rays she had missed so sorely. She could sense her mother looking out the window every other minute, making sure she was still alright. She wished she could ease her mother’s worry, somehow, yet knew it to be impossible.

Allie supposed she couldn’t be safe anywhere. Not ever, maybe. _Let them come_ , she thought. As if she cared. The joke was on them; they had stabbed her in the thigh, somehow managing to miss any crucial artery. A part of her wished her assailant had had better aim. What kept that self-destructive part at bay was the keen awareness of her mother looking out the window yet again. Allie couldn't just go and get herself killed. She couldn’t do that to her parents. Not after Cassandra. They wouldn’t make it through another mourning.

She closed her eyes, in an attempt at peacefully basking in the warmth of a mid-May sun. When she opened them again, she saw a tall figure making its way towards the house.

She recognized Clark right away. She was amazed at her own composure, as she barely even had to mask any internal anguish. Maybe she was too numb for it now. The only reason she felt her heart racing against her will was the thought of her mother possibly looking over the scene.

Clark’s head was lowered and his shoulders were slumped. He looked as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible, in spite of his imposing figure. She patiently waited for him to reach the porch. As she did, she kept her expression as bland and cold as possible. Her leg was propped on a wicker chair just like the one she sat on, and the bandage around her thigh was clearly visible below the line of her shorts. She thought she could see Clark eyeing it as he drew closer. She pretended not to care.

When Clark finally reached the steps, he hesitated, for the first time raising his eyes to meet Allie’s. When she failed to offer any sign of clear rejection, he climbed the steps. He respectfully stopped a few feet away from her, and Allie internally sighed in relief.

He stood there awkwardly, saying nothing. As the seconds dragged along in silence, Allie eventually took the lead.

“The police came over this morning,” she said, sounding detached.

The panic immediately sparked on Clark’s face. She patiently let him marinate in it for a few seconds, before adding, “I didn’t tell them it was your brother, if that’s what you’re here to find out.”

He looked briefly relieved. And then puzzled again.

She smirked. “You’re surprised I know who your brother is?” she asked, weirdly amused. “I know it sounds like an eternity ago, but you were a popular guy in school, Clark. A star football player, with a hot girlfriend and cool friends. In your eyes, I may have only been Cassandra’s invisible sister for the longest time, but I’ve always seen you.” She shifted in her seat slightly, suppressing the wince of pain. She wasn’t done talking. “You probably don’t know what it’s like, not to be seen your entire life, and then to suddenly have all eyes on you, expecting you to make things better, to know better. To _be_ better. When you’re still just a kid.”

He obviously had no idea what to say to that. Words were failing him. He could only stand there, dumbly, and stare, ghostly. The only thing that would have made sense for him to say, would have been an apology. Even Allie knew that wouldn’t happen.

It wouldn’t even matter anyway. Not after everything. Maybe Clark was too proud, or too dense. Either way, even if he got over it and apologized, it wouldn’t change a damn thing. She would never forgive.

That didn’t mean she wanted revenge, though. Like an apology, that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring back Cassandra, nor her youthful innocence. It wouldn’t help anyone. Allie didn’t even think it would make her feel good at all. What she truly wanted, was peace. Just some goddamn peace.

She couldn’t go back in time, back to the way things were. And neither could Clark. That would have to be punishment enough.

When she spoke again, it was with a cool, firm voice, one that was weirdly free of animosity. She was beyond that.

“Go home, Clark. Go be a big brother. I know you can be a decent person, believe it or not. So go be that. Go try to be a better role model. And _please,_ leave me alone.”

At that, he nodded.

o0o0o

Allie omitted to tell the police who had done it. She said she hadn’t seen her assailant. It happened too fast.

Will received the same version of the story, and she could tell from his eyes that he was dubious. Like he knew she wasn’t telling him everything. In a very un-Will-like move, he shrugged it off and accepted it anyway. Allie supposed she wasn’t the only one tired of fighting.

The two of them plunged into their studies with uncharacteristic determination. The best they could do now was to get their diploma, so they could get the hell out of here.

“I think,” Will said when she outlined that plan to him, “that’s the best idea you’ve had so far, Ms. Mayor.”

And of course it was.

He kissed her on the cheek. She rested her head on his shoulder.

Maybe they were the kinds of idiots that needed to see each other get hurt to really understand what mattered. It made sense, really. They were all kids, acting like they knew what they were doing.

Obviously, they didn’t.

o0o0o

They heard that the Beechers had signed up their youngest to anger management classes. In West Ham, gossip traveled fast.

_Always had a temper, that kid,_ the ladies around town said.

_I heard he kicked other kids in school._

_So young. Maybe there’s still hope for him._

People said your past didn’t define you.

Allie hoped that was true.

o0o0o

Allie was studying in her makeshift bedroom one evening, when her mom checked up on her for the nth time of the night. Amanda Pressman sat on the edge of the bed. In such a small bedroom, that meant she was merely a foot away from where Allie sat at the desk. Books were sprawled all over Allie’s workspace in front of her. Her mom smiled at the mess.

“What are you studying?” Amanda Pressman asked curiously.

“Physics.”

“Oh, fun.”

Allie hummed in disagreement. She heard her mom chuckle lightly. “School-wise, you’re a lot more like your dad,” she admitted. “I was the scientific one, he was the artist.”

Allie wasn’t sure she felt like an artist. Or a scientist. Or anything, really. She wasn’t sure where she fell on the spectrum of interests and professions. It all felt so remote, intangible.

Her mother seemed much surer of Allie’s potential than she was herself. The woman stroked her daughter’s hair lovingly, as she always had before, to calm her down when she was stressed. Her, and also Cassandra.

Allie’s voice came out in a barely audible whisper. “I’m sorry Cassie didn’t make it back.”

It was a sudden shift in conversation, and yet, her mom seemed unfazed by it. As if she had simultaneously followed the exact same thought pattern. Allie felt a warm hand rest on her back.

“You say it like it’s your fault.”

“Sometimes it feels like it is.”

“Oh, honey.” Amanda Pressman hugged her daughter, awkwardly bridging the gap between their seating arrangements. “I know why you say things like that. In so many ways you’re just like me. Always carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. But none of this is your fault.”

Allie was unresponsive. Her mom hugged harder. “You understand? None of this is your fault.”

“Okay mom.” She didn’t quite believe it. “Okay.”

But maybe she would, in time.

Maybe she would.


	24. Sam Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure hope you have noticed by now, but the flashbacks are not in chronological order, from chapter to chapter. If you feel confused here, you may want to refresh your memory by going back to Chapter Five real quick.

_The sun was lowering in the sky. The streets were eerily quiet. Everyone was at the town meeting, which was about to start._

_Yet their group stood in an alley, out of sight in case a latecomer passed by and saw them. No one was allowed to miss the meeting. Standing in a cluster in the outdoors like this, they wouldn’t look innocent. They didn’t have a plan if that happened._

_Bean paced nervously in the shadows. Gwen wrung her hands apprehensively, while Gordie bit his nails mechanically. The others - Kelly, Gretchen, and Grizz - stood still, awkwardly silent, waiting. Eden shifted in the holder strapped to Sam’s chest. She was asleep, and yet noticeably disturbed by the stressful energy that surrounded all of them. Sam looked down at her and smiled, trying hard to suppress the worry he truly felt._

_Where was Helena? She should have been back by now. They couldn’t wait much longer now._

_There was a collective sigh when she finally appeared within sight, followed by a dazed and pale-looking Elle. There was no time for explanations. They had to go._

_“Everyone ready?” Helena asked coolly._

_They all nodded in sync._

_“Where’s Becca?” Bean ventured to ask, halting their collective movement towards the church. She looked around in search of the missing girl._

_“She’s at home,” Helena answered curtly. “She wasn’t feeling well, I told her to rest.”_

_The others nodded understandingly. Now was no easy time for someone who’d so recently given birth. It made sense that she wouldn't be up for it. Sam frowned, wondering how he hadn’t noticed, and whether he should go check up on her._

_But the group was already on the move, and there was simply no time. He would have to see her later._

_The church was a two-minute walk ahead, and as they drew closer, they could already hear the chaos of dissatisfied voices talking over one another. Helena turned to face her group, drawing out her gun._

_“Let’s go.”_

o0o0o

Sam balanced Eden on his knees, only holding her by the torso, showing off how well she could sit up now.

Mrs. Eliot smiled proudly.

_Look at her,_ she signed. _She grows up so fast. And she looks so much like you._

Sam knew it to be untrue. In addition to him not being the biological father, he could objectively tell Eden was Becca’s clone. Still, he politely smiled and nodded.

Unable to properly sign while holding his daughter, he stood and carefully put her into her portable playpen. Eden immediately busied herself with the plushies left in there for her benefit, and Sam quietly returned to his seat.

When he looked back at his mom, she was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

She didn’t let him ponder for very long. _I heard you kissed a boy in town,_ she signed.

She didn’t look angry, albeit not exactly pleased either. Sam decided now was as good a time as any to wash the dirty laundry.

_Mom._ He felt his features mold into supplication. He wanted to be brave, but he could only bring himself to feel agitated. Like he was coming out all over again. He supposed he was, in a way. _Do you have a problem with me being gay?_

His mom visibly sighed. _I guess I am just confused, Sam. You have to put yourself in our shoes. When you told us you were gay, we supported you. Then, you came back to us with a baby, and again we supported you. We want you to be happy, but we don’t understand you._

Sam made sure to show he was acknowledging what she said. He didn’t want this to escalate into an argument. He didn’t have the energy nor the brain space for that. _I am gay. That won’t change._

His mom nodded. She looked sad. _Okay._

Sam didn’t want to be ambiguous anymore. He wanted to say it, again, and again, and again. _I’m in love with Grizz. He’s my boyfriend._

His mom frowned ever so slightly. _What does Becca think of this?_

Against his better judgment, Sam signed his response with more impatient swiftness than a non-argument called for. _Don’t do that!_

_Do what?_ His mom’s pleading eyes calmed him down. She looked genuinely disoriented. She wasn’t trying to make his life difficult, he realized. He reined his irritation back in.

_Make it seem like I’m cheating._

_That’s not…_ She sighed again, closing her eyes for a second of readjustment. _I’m sorry, honey. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around._

Sam had to remind himself that he couldn’t blame it all on his parents. In his own way, he had been in denial too.

Now he was the one to sigh. _I am sorry if I made things complicated. And I’m sorry I didn’t correct you earlier. I guess that, with Campbell and everything, I was afraid of being a burden again._

His mom’s entire posture slumped, weighed down by a new unreadable feeling. _Honey, how can you think that?_

He supposed he had felt like a burden for a much, much longer time.

The visit ended on a polite note. His mom brought up the possibility of an upcoming Saturday brunch with Becca, and Sam felt that was as good a start as any.

o0o0o

Sam and Grizz studied together often. Becca rarely joined these days.

There hadn’t been any incidents with Clark and Jason since Allie’s assault. In the days that followed her attack, everyone held their breath, waiting for the next hit. Allie claimed she didn’t think there would be more, and she said so with such an inexplicable dismissiveness, but they were all doubtful. Until shit did stop happening, and slowly, hesitantly, they started breathing out again.

Still, Grizz was keener than ever before to get out of West Ham. His exams were a week away, and he studied in a frenzy that put nerdy-Sam to shame. The tall footballer had met a guidance counselor a few times, and with her help, he had selected his top three favorite colleges among those still accepting late applications. They were all out of state.

The thought made Sam feel queasy. Of course, he made sure never to show it in Grizz’s presence. This was about Grizz. Not about him. He couldn’t allow himself to be selfish here.

One afternoon, while the boys were studying, Kelly exited Becca’s bedroom with a somber expression. She made her way to the kitchen table, where books were sprawled messily between Sam and Grizz. When she was near enough, she carefully crouched so as to be level with Sam’s eyes as she spoke.

“Have you talked to Becca, lately?”

Sam frowned. Becca spent most of her days in the bedroom these days. Another episode, he thought. It would pass. It usually did.

He shrugged, as if to say _kind of?_

Kelly’s expression was cryptic as she nodded almost imperceptibly. “Well, you should.”

And on that, she left the apartment without a word.

Grizz looked at him quizzically. Sam shrugged, just as confused.

They stayed like this one more hour, before Grizz declared he was awaited at home for dinner. His first family dinner with his parents since the unfortunate coming out debacle. Sam knew he was both cautiously optimistic and terribly anxious about it. Grizz left with a quick peck on the lips and the now-familiar sign; _I love you._

When he was out, Kelly’s words resonated back in Sam’s mind. He stared at the closed bedroom door attentively, as if waiting for a sign.

It didn’t come.

o0o0o

Becca did not seem startled when Sam slipped into bed next to her. He briefly wondered if she was sleeping, until she drowsily turned to face him. She looked impossibly tired for someone who had slept all day.

_Becca,_ he signed pleadingly. _You know you can talk to me._

She nodded. _I know._

_I love you._

_I love you too._

She didn’t talk right away. In fact, it took nearly an hour, maybe more, of him holding her silently before she even started.

When she did, however, it looked like she couldn’t stop. Her hands were signing in a frenzy, and the tears started running down her cheeks almost immediately. The end of the story was a blur to Sam. The party, the alcohol. Campbell. Campbell smiling. Campbell luring Becca to a bedroom. Becca too drunk to understand. Too drunk to say no.

Before he knew it, he was crying too. For Becca, who had lived with the dreadful weight of shame and silence for so long. Who thought she had to protect Sam from the knowledge of what his brother was capable of. Who thought it was her burden to bear, and hers alone. Who thought, still, after all this time, that she was the one who had made a mistake.

_I am so sorry, Becca._ He wiped his own tears away, pointlessly, as they kept rushing out. _I am so sorry._

She shook her head, dismissing his guilt. _No, I am sorry. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t._

They held each other until they both fell asleep. Wet cheeks, red eyes, snotty noses. “I’m here,” was the last thing he whispered repeatedly in her ear, before slowly drifting off.

They both slept fitfully, in spite of the mysterious weight slowly evaporating off their shoulders.

Things would never be simple again.

Sam didn’t think that mattered. Simplicity was deceiving.

Maybe, one day, he would get over the guilt of not having been there when he was needed the most. Of not having seen. Of not having known.

Maybe.

Maybe one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... One chapter left (plus an epilogue).
> 
> So. _Whodunit??_


	25. Becca Gelb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ka-boom.

_Someone had to go get Elle._

_Campbell never took her with him to town meetings, so all they had to do was wait for him to be gone, get Elle, and overthrow the town meeting when everyone least expected it._

_That was Becca’s job. She was meant to discretely make her way to the Eliot house, ascertain that Campbell had left, and get Elle before they went to meet the others. Sam had taken the baby with him so Becca could freely move unseen from house to house, in case anyone running late to the meeting happened to pass by. Once or twice, she checked that her knife was still secured in her belt. The others carried Helena’s guns, but Becca couldn’t bring herself to touch those things. She would have left the house completely unarmed, had it not been for Sam chastising her, and finally convincing her to bring one of the kitchen knives._

_As yet another rustling of distant tree branches in the wind made her jump, she thought maybe Sam had been wise, after all. Not that she would ever have it in her to stab anyone, that was. It was only for intimidation purposes, if it came to that._

_It didn’t. She got to the old Eliots house unhindered. The streets were empty, eerily quiet._

_The house, on the other hand, wasn’t. Before she even made it to the porch, she heard voices coming from inside. No, not voices. Shouts. Angry shouts from a deep, male voice. And desperate, terrified ones from a weaker, meeker voice._

_All muscles in her body tensed up, as she silently climbed the porch steps and drew closer to the door. The screaming only got louder. More threatening. Even without making out what they said, tragedy felt inexplicably imminent. Something was very wrong – Elle should have been alone at this time._

_The smart thing would have been to call for help. That seemed obvious, in hindsight. In the moment, however, the only thing that made sense was to open that door and see what was going on. Help Elle. Get her out of there. That seemed urgent and necessary._

_The door didn’t creak. In fact, it remained silent even as Becca slowly closed it behind her. Inside, the shouts were deafening. By then, Becca felt as if she were in a trance, hypnotized by the terror resounding against the indoors walls of the house. Practically unaware of her own movements, yet impossibly quiet in her steps, she glided across the wooden floors. She managed to reach the archway to the living room entirely unnoticed. What she saw there turned her blood to ice._

_Elle was on the floor, on her back, face distorted in the most guttural show of fear. Her hands were anxiously clasped around Campbell’s arms, who towered over her, bending over her cowering form in a predatory fashion. His left hand gripped the back of Elle’s hair in an iron fist. His right hand held a gun. And it was pointed straight at Elle's head._

_“You bitch!” Campbell yelled, spit flying into Elle’s face as he spoke furiously. “You think you can outsmart me? You think you can trick me? We’re the same, remember? You can never fool me!”_

_Stupidly, unable to think clearly with the shock numbing her limbs, Becca slowly stepped forward, ever closer to the scene._

_“I’m going to KILL you.” Campbell’s voice seemed to relax as he uttered the threat. With every word he sounded more like the kind of psychopathic young man who could kill pet birds for pleasure and attack women for power. “And then, I’m going to get to that meeting. And I’ll kill that bitch who gave you that gun. And I’ll kill everyone who gets in my way.”_

_Becca was too close for comfort, but she couldn’t stop. She stared at the scene in awe as she just kept moving forward. She had heard people describe a train wreck once. It’s terrifying, they said. You don’t want to stare, you don’t want to see the carnage, but you just can’t look away._

_“My only regret, Elle,” Campbell purred in a now soberingly resigned tone of amusement, “is that you won’t be there to see it.”_

_At that moment, Elle’s eyes flicked in shock toward Becca, who then stood right behind Campbell. The latter only turned his head slightly, unsuspectingly wondering what she was looking at, all of a sudden._

_The knife entered his neck cleanly._

o0o0o

_When they failed to meet the others at the designated time and place, Helena came to check up on them, to see what was holding them back._

_The girl with the raven hair, which was already starting to look disheveled, stared at the body in shock. Her face was draining of all color, but still she came to her senses quicker than the other two._

_“Elle. Do you understand?” Becca heard Helena utter firmly while shaking the blonde girl with both hands._

_When Elle finally went upstairs to change, Helena drew to Becca’s side, and knelt in front of her. Becca was still sitting in the very same chair she had dropped into as Campbell bled to death in front of her very eyes. She was shivering uncontrollably, and barely heard what Helena told her._

_“Becca. Becca, honey. Listen to me. I need you to go home. Shower. Wait for it to be over. We’ll get Allie and Will to help. No one else will have to know. You hear me, honey?”_

_The rest could have been Helena’s words, or the voices inside Becca’s head, proving she was definitely going crazy._

Everything will be okay, Becca. Everything will be okay.

_o0o0o_

_Sam found her in bed that evening, after the rebellion, practically catatonic._

_He assumed it was the shock of everything that had gone down. She had been through so much in so little time._

_He put Eden to bed, and went to sleep next to her._

_o0o0o_

_They thought they were quiet, but Becca heard their worried whispers beyond the bedroom door._

_“Do you think it’s post-partum depression?”_

_“I don’t know, Sam, but I don’t think so. I say we just wait and see.”_

_And they did._

_Eventually, things got better. As the memories were pushed to a deeper corner of her mind, she found it easier to get out of bed and act normal around the others. They all looked relieved._ _She would never feel normal again, but she got better at acting._

_The others moved on._

_She didn’t._

_She would be forever haunted by demons wearing Campbell’s face, calling her a murderer, reminding her of who she really was._

_She would always be someone who had gotten away with murder._ _Even as she got somewhat better, she never forgot. She would forever be marked. And a spot was being kept warm for her in Hell._

o0o0o

Kelly, Helena, and Sam were with her for her first therapy appointment. They had left Eden in the care of Becca’s parents, who weren’t told where she was truly headed. She said they were going out. Her parents accepted the lie readily. She wasn’t ready to tell them. Not yet.

The trio took turns holding her hand in the waiting room, and all waited for her afterward, so they could go grab milkshakes at the diner.

They didn’t talk about what went on in the session. Instead, Kelly whined about how badly she thought her exams had gone, while Helena rolled her eyes at the evident invalidity of her claims. Sam stole all of their fries. Becca was grateful for all of it.

As the weeks passed by, therapy never got easier. It brought out feelings and memories she would have preferred to see buried forever. But Dr. Jones, her therapist, was patient and intent on having her accept that sexual assault was not something she could blame on herself. She supposed that, with time, it would sink in.

In the meantime, she was reminded by her friends that she was not alone.

Or at the very least, that she didn’t have to be.

o0o0o

“I think I want to go to college.” She surprised herself by saying it. Still, she repeated it in sign, for Sam’s benefit.

All four of them sat out in the backyard, admiring the sunset as part of a weird ritual they had developed over the last few weeks.

Kelly looked over Becca with a fond smile. “Then you should go to college. You’ll make it work.”

Becca had never considered the option before. It was weird, in a way – she was smart, she had good grades. College should have been a given. Yet, she’d never even bothered thinking about it.

Maybe it was that she thought planning her future was pointless, especially now with a baby on her hands. Maybe she thought she wasn’t worth it; that she didn’t deserve a future.

For the first time, she didn’t believe yesterday had to define tomorrow. She thought that could be today’s job.

Maybe things were changing.

o0o0o

Kelly knew what she did.

At least, Becca thought she knew. They never talked about it, and Kelly certainly never asked questions.

But sometimes, in the way her gaze lingered over Becca, she thought she could see Kelly’s thoughts railing. Wondering. Considering.

Kelly never asked, though.

Becca was okay with the status quo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually do still need to finish writing the epilogue.  
> Bear with me.


	26. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. Apologies for the delay.

**_July 30th, 2020_ **

**_West Ham_ **

_Dear Elle,_

_I hope this letter reaches you. And I hope it doesn’t freak you out that I found your address._

_I’ve been thinking about you a lot since you left. You know me, I can’t help but worry. I ~~wanted~~ needed a way to reach you, since you don’t reply to text messages or emails. Maybe you got a new number, maybe you just don’t want to be reminded of anyone from your past. Either way, I don’t blame you. I don’t even expect you to reply to this letter. I guess I just wanted to let you know that we’re okay, and we hope you’re okay too._

_You weren’t easy to find, if that makes you feel any better. I’d never have thought to look for you in California. It was the chief who helped me find your location. But don’t worry: no one is coming for you, or even looking for you. You’re safe. I didn’t tell anyone, and neither did the chief. I am not sure what it was that made him change his mind about finding out what happened while we were gone, but the police are no longer asking questions. None of us are complaining._

_I know what you’re thinking: if I’m in contact with the chief like that, does it mean Luke and I…? Well, no. Not at all. You know just as well as I do how much has changed. I can’t just be the Helena I was before._

_I still love him. That I can still admit. I’ve been seeing more of him lately, and it’s less awkward than it used to be. It hurts less to see him, too. I don’t know what the future has in stock for me, or Luke, but I guess that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? I have to assume that’s why you went to California. And that you’re happier now._

_I think a lot of us are taking a page out of your book these days. We could have used doing it earlier._

_To no one’s surprise, Kelly and Gordie are off to medical school. I mean, not right away, obviously. They both got accepted to the University of Connecticut, where they’ll carry out their undergraduate studies. Gordie is going for a nursing degree, while Kelly’s in biological sciences. They’re both not-so-secretly hoping to attend med school at Yale when they graduate, but wherever they end up training for it, they’ll become amazing doctors. No one has any doubts about that._

_Grizz is off to Florida State University, to major in English. His grandma has been living in Tallahassee for most of her retirement. He’ll be living with her to save money. His guidance counselor thinks he can get a scholarship by the end of his first year. That’s on brand, I’d say._

_He and Sam are an item. Maybe you already knew that. I think you’ve always been much more observant than the majority of us. They’re cute together. I believe they’ll make it work, in spite of the distance. Maybe that’s just the romantic in me talking. It’s odd, how that part of me didn’t die when so many other ones did._

_Allie and Will are completing their GED at godspeed, as far as I can tell. They’re not very social, I don’t see much of them. They study all the time, to the point where they’re almost putting Kelly and Gordie to shame. I guess it makes sense. Of all of us, they’re the ones who most viscerally need to get out of here. No one’s been causing any trouble lately and we’ve all been able to find some semblance of peace, but I get that they don’t want to stay. If they can’t get into a college far far away by next year, I think they’ll find jobs out of state and get the hell out anyway. I can’t say I don’t sympathize._

_Becca and Sam are juggling GED studies and caring for Eden. They’re looking into colleges they can afford around New York, Texas, or Washington, D.C. That’s where Sam can go to a college for the deaf and hard of hearing. They’ll have to study in the same city, to make it work with Eden. It’s proving to be quite the puzzle, but they have plenty of time to figure it out. I trust they’ll find their way._

_Becca’s fine, in case you’re worried. She’s seeing a therapist, and I think it’s helping. Healing takes time and a tremendous amount of energy, but she's holding on. She's strong. But you knew that._

_Sometimes I think Kelly’s starting to piece together what happened. Somehow, I don’t find that as scary as I should. It’s not that Kelly wouldn’t care, but I sense she wants the past to stay in the past. Like all of us. New Ham was New Ham. It’s behind us now. No one else knows, and no one else ever will._

_And me? I guess you could say I’m taking a sabbatical. I passed all my exams, so I am now officially a high school graduate. I tried looking into colleges, but I just couldn’t bring myself to choose. Nothing made sense. It all felt so… pointless. Futile, almost._

_My aunt lives in Arizona, and she says she knows plenty of families who’d like to hire a tutor. I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon. I’ve never seen anything outside of Connecticut, actually. I think I could do that, tutor kids for a year. And then see._

_Luke said he has family in Arizona too. I haven’t yet decided how I feel about that. I can keep you posted, if you want me to keep writing._

_And I guess that’s it._

_You don’t have to reply. But I’d be overjoyed if you did._

_Just know that we’re okay. Or at least, we will be._

_And I hope you will too._

_With love, Helena xxx_

o0o0o

Mayor Bingham quickly browsed the police report, inflexible under Chief Holbrook’s watchful eye. Her office was cold, and the chief wondered if it was the air conditioning or just the woman’s austere presence that made it so.

“Hm.” The mayor finally raised her eyes to meet the chief’s gaze. Hers was cool, unreadable. “Inconclusive, you say?”

“Well,” the chief calmly responded, “that’s a lot to summarize into one single word.” He paused. “But yes. You could say it was inconclusive.”

Karen Bingham nodded carefully, indecipherably still. “Some parents will not be pleased.”

“It’s been over a year since those kids disappeared. Five months since most have been returned to us. I say those who still need to grieve should get to it as soon as possible.”

“You don’t think they’ll ask for answers?”

“To be honest with you, Ms. Bingham, I am not sure anyone has answers. Not the ones they think they need, that is. We believe it’s time to move on.”

Mayor Bingham appeared to silently assess his answer from behind her well-organized desk for a while.

The smile that eventually tugged on her lips was barely visible.

The chief smiled back.

o0o0o

“I am an addict.”

This was the third time Harry was saying those words out loud. It still didn’t sound right.

His therapist smiled nonetheless, appearing satisfied.

“I am proud of you for saying it, Harry. There is a lot of work ahead, but the initial steps are the hardest to take.”

So they said, yeah.

Harry left his appointment with an odd lightness in his step. Outside the building, Lexie stood by a lamppost, distractedly browsing social media on her phone. He lightly punched her in the shoulder as he approached.

“Ow!” she berated him, looking disproportionately annoyed. “Rude!”

He scoffed. “Sorry. Didn’t you hear? I’m an addict. I’m unpredictable.”

She shoved him in response, weakly enough that no one could possibly think she was genuinely mad.

“We don’t have time for your violent outbursts, Mr. Addict. Didn’t you hear? We have a new support group meeting to get to.”

Harry feigned to look surprised. “A new support group, you say?”

“Why yes, a new apolitical support group, ironically started by a failed politician and her addict friend. A recipe for success, for sure."

“Huh. How fascinating. We better get going, then.”

He casually wrapped an arm around Lexie’s shoulders as he led the way. She tolerated it for a grand total of three minutes.

A new personal record.

o0o0o

The gray clouds threatened to tear and pour, and Becca stuffed her hands into the pockets of her light jacket. It felt like a crisp autumn night, when really it was barely evening, and in August. An unwelcome preview into the season to come.

The cemetery was empty at this time. She wasn’t surprised by it. It was what she had hoped for.

She made her way quietly through the rows of icy gray stones, feeling a vague sensation of nerves combined with self-imposed courage.

Easily enough, she found what she had come to see. Within minutes, she stood before the one headstone she had avoided all this time. The one she had made a point never to visit, even as it called for her in the insidious depths of her nightmares. She couldn't pretend it didn't exist anymore. She needed to do this.

_Campbell Eliot. 2001-2019. “Have faith we’ll meet again.”_

Becca couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down her spine as she read the inscription naively selected by Campbell’s loving parents. Love made you blind, they said. Campbell’s parents never knew who he truly was. What he was capable of. Or maybe they always refused to see it. Maybe they were too afraid of the implications. Of the truth.

Becca didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

She spoke the words out loud, speaking to a young man that was no longer there. Neither in soul nor in body, as she stood on his empty grave.

“You don’t scare me anymore.”

She repeated the words, maybe to convince herself, more so than Campbell’s empty tomb.

She said it again, and again, until the words lost their meaning and no longer felt so dissonant with reality. When she finally stopped saying them, a weight felt lifted off her shoulders.

A smile etched its way onto her lips. She stole one last glance at the cold tombstone before turning around, never to look at it ever again.

She left the cemetery, softly and mindlessly humming a nursery rhyme she remembered from her childhood.

_Three blind mice,_

_Three blind mice,_

_See how they run, see how they run._

_They all ran after the farmer’s wife_

_Who cut off their tails with a carving knife._

_Did you ever see such a thing in your life_

_As three blind mice?_

Her voice resonated in the unusually fresh air of the summer night.

But she did not feel cold.

Not anymore.

And never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a pleasure. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did.


End file.
